


Christmas Treats and Angel Heats

by MalMuses



Category: Supernatural
Genre: A bit of a pain in the ass but alive, Alpha Dean Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Smut, Christmas Tree, Dean Winchester Uses Actual Words, Fluff in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Friends to Lovers, Gabriel is a alive, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Mating Bites, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Merry Christmas, Omega Castiel, PB Exchange Fic, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam Ships It, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wing Kink, Wings, You think this is gonna go in an angsty direction but it really doesn't at all, mentions of mpreg, well kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 05:37:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17135981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalMuses/pseuds/MalMuses
Summary: [A PB Exchange fic for Wargurl83]Angels don't have a sex, or gender, nevermind a secondary gender—right? At least, that's what the Winchesters have been led to believe.It's Christmas, and Dean misses his angel friend. He's been AWOL for days, and the Winchesters are worried.When Cas returns to the bunker on Christmas Eve, very clearly in heat, a few of their assumptions are going to have to change.Oh, and Dean is going to have to hide his feelings for Cas in the face of the news that the angel is an unmated omega, who desperately needs their help.Merry Christmas, Dean!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wargurl83](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wargurl83/gifts).



> This is a fic for the 2018 PB Exchange, with the theme 'Winter Wonderland'. It's a gift for Wargurl83.
> 
> You can find her here on [tumblr](https://wargurl83.tumblr.com/) or on [AO3.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wargurl83)
> 
> Wargurl83 said she liked A/B/O, Wings, Fluff. 
> 
> Well... here we go. I've never written A/B/O before. I had honestly barely any experience with it at all, but obviously, if someone says they like it, I'm gonna try! But, apologies if there's stuff I got wrong. I'm a noob, forgive me! I wanted to try and come up with something that hit all of the above, so prepare yourself for tooth-rotting fluff, angel wings, a bunch of A/B/O and a blushy Dean Winchester who tries to use his words.
> 
> Big thanks to [jscribbles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jscribbles/pseuds/jscribbles), my awesome alpha friend, and [EllenofOz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllenOfOz/pseuds/EllenOfOz) for the amazing last-minute beta. Also, SOBS and Elena, ily, thanks for all the encouragement. You're the best <3
> 
> Please let me know how I did!
> 
> Merry Christmas!
> 
> \- Mal <3

**1.**

 

“It’s even more pathetic than I thought it was going to be,” Dean said, cringing internally. He didn’t want to let Sam down like this. Maybe Wal-Mart was still open? Could he sneak out of the bunker and grab some tinsel and treats somehow?

Dean and Sam stood side by side, eyeing the bare, feeble Christmas tree they had found shoved in the corner of one of the bunker’s storage rooms. Both had their heads tilted to the left, observing the way the plastic fir leaned like a depressing, glittery tower of Pisa.

“It’s better than last year,” Sam offered, unconvincingly.

“We didn’t have a tree last year.”

“Exactly.”

“We spent last year in that motel in Kentucky, remember? The one that smelled of tuna.”

“Exactly.”

“They put mistletoe on our door,” Dean recalled.

“Yup,” Sam said, crinkling his nose. “Like I said, better than last year.”

They stared for a few minutes more, arms folded, before shrugging and moving away from the patchy, plastic horror. It was as much Christmas spirit as it seemed like the bunker could hold; Cas was missing, gone for over a week and not answering his phone. Jody was working, Claire was AWOL, Garth had a family thing. Every person the Winchesters could think of to spend Christmas with had other plans.

At least the tree was up, and there were a handful of small, poorly wrapped presents already underneath it, ready for the next day. Dean had even, to a silently raised eyebrow from Sam, sneaked a small gift for Cas under the tree, even though they had no idea where he was or if he’d be back. The gift itself had been a struggle for Dean; what do you even give to an angel? He didn’t own anything. Dude didn’t even change his clothes. In the end, what Dean had gone with was probably overly sentimental, and he’d considered pulling it from under the tree on an almost hourly basis ever since he put it there.

But, even with the gifts under it, the tree looked pretty miserable.

Dean knocked an elbow into Sam, curling his lip slightly at the wafting scent of sadness that curled across from Sam beneath his usual fresh, woodsy aroma. “Quit that, Sammy. You smell like someone kicked a puppy.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “No fair. You’ve smelled like misery ever since Cas poofed, and have I mentioned it? No. So shut it. I’m allowed to be sad we’re alone for Christmas, jerk.”

“Bitch,” Dean bristled. “You had to bring it up.”

“Just because Cas can’t smell your pining, doesn’t mean that I have to give you a pass on it. Go shower or something, for god’s sake.”

Dean scowled but silently swept out of the room to head down to the Men of Letters shower block. Of course, Sam would complain that Dean smelled sad, like his body was insisting he’d lost a mate… That’s what it felt like. And no one knew Dean, and his scent, better than Sam.

 _Stupid angels and their stupid lack of a secondary gender,_ Dean huffed, rooting around in his wash bag for his strongest-smelling body wash. _Or primary gender, for that matter._

Dean soaped up thoroughly, disguising his natural pheromone scent as best he could. Sam knowing about his unrequited _thing_ for Cas was one thing; he’d never had a chance of hiding it from his brother. But he certainly didn’t want anyone else noticing, particularly Cas himself, should he suddenly show back up out of the blue, as he was wont to do.

Twenty minutes later, a nice, safe scent of Old Spice layered on top of his own apples, leather, and whiskey, Dean strolled out into the library once more, toweling at his hair.

On the floor, at the foot of the pitiful approximation of a Christmas tree, was a puddle of beige trench coat. Bloodied beige trench coat.

Notably, there was no angel in it.

Dean had only just got out of the shower, but the sharp scent of alpha fear filled his nose. It was him. For fuck's sake, how many showers a day was he gonna have to take?

“Cas?” Dean yelled, spinning around on the spot as if he expected the angel to be lurking casually in one of the corners of the library, coatless. Coatless was practically naked for Cas.

Hollering the angel’s name didn’t provide his location, but it did draw Sam out of the kitchen.

“What’s happening?” Sam asked, before drawing a deep inhale, his nostrils flaring as he caught his brother's fright on the air. “Dean? What’s wrong?”

Dean bent down, picking up the trench coat from the floor. Bringing it up to his face, Dean frowned, inhaling deeply. Cas’ airy, ozone scent, layered with incense-like musk and cinnamon, filled his lungs. But then...something else.

Something sweet, sugary and warm, a dusty, feathery smell….

“Sam.” Dean’s head snapped up. He held out the coat toward his brother, not saying anything else.

A question in his eyes, Sam stepped up and took a graceful sniff at the garment. His eyes widened immediately.

“Dean, that’s…” Sam’s Adam’s apple bobbed firmly as he gulped down his confusion. “Gabriel. Where is Cas, and why does his coat smell of Gabriel?”

“Gabriel is dead,” Dean stated, confusion on his brow.

Sam gave a little humourless laugh. “Honestly, I already had my doubts about that. Dude’s practically a Winchester in the death department.”

Dean managed a little grin, but it was short-lived, his worry about Cas pushing it back off his face before it really even began. “Well, that doesn’t help work out where Cas is, and why this,” Dean waved the blood-stained overcoat, “is under our Christmas tree.”

Sam shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. When did you last try and call Cas?”

“This morning,” Dean said. “No answer, of course.”

“Try again, maybe. I don’t know what else we can do.”

Dean nodded. Folding the coat over in his hands, he gestured to with it to the bunker dormitories. “I’m going to stash this in my room. I guess we shouldn’t wash it or anything until we know…” he trailed off slightly.

Sam was already nodding. “Yeah. Right now it’s evidence, though what of, I haven’t got a clue.” Reaching forward, Sam clasped Dean’s shoulder. “I’m sure he’s fine. It’s Cas. He’s the biggest badass we know, remember?”

“Yeah.” Dean pursed his lips, still looking down at the coat, but appreciated Sam’s words nonetheless.

The answer to the question of Cas’ whereabouts was thankfully discovered as soon as Dean opened his bedroom door. Slumped in the chair next to Dean’s bed, was a very beaten-looking Castiel.

Feeling his inner alpha flare up protectively, Dean struggled to push it down. Cas was an angel; he didn’t need some idiot alpha fussing over him. Even so, Dean dashed straight up to the chair, tilting Cas’ lolling head up with his hands.

“Cas! What the hell, dude? What happened? Where have you been?”

“Dean,” Cas said, his voice lower than usual, as if he didn’t already sound like the best kind of phone-sex worker. His eyes sought out Dean’s, and a little of the tension seemed to melt from his shoulders. His eyelids drifted back shut, obscuring his violently blue eyes, and he leaned forward, resting his head on Dean’s shoulder.

Cas’ musky scent was overpowering from so close. Dean tried not to noticeably sniff at it. Confusingly, Cas didn’t usually smell of much at all, and the mild musky scent he did give off, Dean had years of practice at ignoring. So the fact Dean noticed his scent at all was a little strange.

“Hey, buddy,” Dean pushed him gently back up again, tapping at Cas’ cheek in concern. “Eyes open, come on now. What happened? What do you need?”

“Just...rest,” Cas murmured into his shoulder.

Frowning, Dean nodded and slipped his arms under Cas’ armpits, slumping him forward and taking his weight. “Okay, Cas. I gotcha,” he comforted, quietly, pulling the angel bodily out of the chair and twisting him over to the bed.

Getting a closer look at Cas’ injuries as he pulled the angel back from resting on his shoulder, Dean cataloged a swollen cheekbone, a split lip, and an eyebrow that needed some stitches. There appeared to be a long slash down his inner forearm. There was a lot more blood than those few injuries would indicate, Dean decided. It was almost as if Cas had been more severely injured and had healed himself—but not completely. It was very odd.

Cas sat up on the bed for a few seconds, blinking slowly, before Dean guided him to lay down. His suit jacket, pants, and sensible shoes were a mess, splattered with blood and covered in small rips, but it didn’t matter, not right then. Dean could clean up when he knew what had happened.

Dean subtly scented around the angel as he pulled the blanket up over him, trying to swallow down his own concern and fury. Cas smelled of blood and fear. In ten years, he could count on one hand the number of times he’d known Cas to smell afraid. He wanted to tear something apart, get answers, take whoever had done this and make them pay.

But he didn’t even know what had happened, and he had no way of—

Wait. _Gabriel._

He took a calming breath. He didn’t really think, he told himself firmly, that Gabriel was responsible for this. But… he’d been there. He knew something, that much was clear.

Looking down at Cas, his usually tan skin paled against the pillow, a sheen of sweat and blood highlighting his cheekbones, Dean pushed desperately down at his protective urges. Suppressing a low growl at the back of his throat, he stepped out into the hallway to find Sam, and fetch supplies to take care of the wounded, sleeping angel in his bed.

Dean was strung tight, the scent of the smears of Cas’ blood on his hands driving his alpha to distraction. _Cas. Hurt. Protect._

Sam was easy to find, still being almost exactly where Dean left him, wiping up a few stray drops of blood from the coat under the Christmas tree.

“Found him.”

“What?”

“Cas is in my room,” Dean explained. “Beaten all to hell. Nothing he can’t recover from by the looks of it, but he’s not healing.”

Sam straightened up, scrunching up the paper towel he’d been dabbing the floor with. “What do you mean, not healing? Like he can’t?”

Dean shrugged, frowning. “Dunno. He just...hasn’t. And he said he needed to rest, and now he’s asleep on my bed, suit and all.”

“What happened to him?” Sam shook his head in confusion, firing the paper towel at the waste paper basket in the corner, then turning back to Dean and folding his arms. “Could he tell you anything at all about where he’s been?”

“Not a word. Just said my name, and that he needed rest. So,” Dean paused, pointing at Sam. “What about if you ask Gabriel? We know he’s alive and has been near Cas recently.”

“Why me?”

“He likes you more than me. Can’t blame him, I was kinda a dick the last time he was here,” Dean admitted. “You two seem to have an almost-friends thing going on though.”

Sam shrugged, not bothering to deny it. “I guess, though it’s Gabriel. I’m not sure he really has friends. But I can try and pray to him, I guess? I don’t know if he’ll listen, but…” Sam spread his hands, “why not, I guess.”

Dean nodded, staring at Sam.

“What?”

“Well, go on then!”

“Right now, Dean?”

“You got something more important to do?” Dean snapped, feeling the tightness in his chest winding back up, his own scent rising and growing stronger. “Cas is in there, bleeding on my bed, and I don’t know how to help him.”

Sam held his palms up toward Dean, placatingly. “Right. Of course. Sorry. Just take a breath, okay?” He looked across at Dean, his hazel eyes understanding but his tone firm. “You need to get yourself under control a little. I’ll pray to Gabriel. You’ve got Cas’ blood on your hands and it’s making you crazy. Get another shower, grab a beer, and go sit with Cas.”

Dean sighed. Sam was right, and he knew it. “Okay. Alright.” He nodded slowly, taking a deep breath before he turned toward the corridor once more. Sometimes, he and Sam both being alphas was troublesome, since they tended to rub each other the wrong way and get tetchy about sharing close quarters all the time. But when he needed someone to understand what was going on with him without having to explain, Sam was it.

In the shower block, again, Dean looked down at his hands as the traces of Cas’ blood washed down the drain. Slowly, he calmed but remained worried. Sure, Cas ventured off from the bunker all the time. But in recent years, he’d always let Dean know where he was going, or what his plans were, whenever he could. He hadn’t just disappeared for a week in a very long time, and he’d never reappeared like this.

Shutting off the water, not caring to linger under the warm spray this time, Dean toweled off and went to get the first aid kit and do what he could for his angel.


	2. Chapter 2

**2.**

 

Gabriel needed less persuasion to arrive than Dean expected. In fact, when he ventured out of his bedroom to grab another beer while Cas slept, he heard the archangel’s voice in the war room, talking to Sam.

“—not my place, you know?”

“Right,” Sam said. “I get it. We just need to know—”

“Hey,” Dean interrupted, stepping through the doorway from the tiled corridor. Sam stood next to the map table, on which Gabriel was perched, his legs swinging as they spoke. Dean nodded to Gabriel first in greeting, before looking at Sam. “So, what’s the deal?”

Sam exchanged an odd look with Gabriel. “I’m gonna—” he gestured to the kitchen. 

Gabriel nodded. Sam turned and pushed past Dean into the corridor, much to Dean’s confusion.

“Hey!” he called after Sam. “What’s the deal?”

“Take a seat, Dean-o,” Gabriel announced, kicking out a chair from the table. He shifted, sliding his butt from the midst of the California coast down to Central America, creating space for Dean to sit down. 

Warily, Dean lowered himself into the chair. “You know what happened to Cas?” he asked bluntly.

“I do,” said Gabriel. “And I’m going to tell you. But there’s some background involved that I don’t think you’re aware of and that the ol’ bean isn’t going to be impressed I told you about.”

Leaning back and folding his arms across his chest, Dean regarded Gabriel skeptically. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the archangel particularly—he’d done right by them in the end. But he didn’t have quite the patience for his chicanery that his brother did.

“Go on,” Dean intoned, gesturing with one hand. “Enlighten me.”

“So, Sam tells me that you were both under the impression that angels have no gender.”

Dean blinked. That was certainly not where he expected this to begin. “Uh, Yeah, I mean...Cas told us years ago. You’re all,” Dean waved his right hand vaguely toward the sky, “floatin’ around junkless up there, right? Waves of celestial yadda-yadda.”  

Gabriel nodded. “Yes, that’s true. We don’t have a primary sex in the squishy-bits, human kinda sense, no.” 

Dean waited, raising an eyebrow pointedly.

“So, it’s like this, kid,” Gabriel leaned back onto the table, placing his palms down and kicking his feet out. “Angels don’t have a biological sex, is what I’m getting at. Some of us have more of a vessel preference, which I guess you could interpret as gender...but that’s irrelevant, really. No sex. No boys and girls, just...angels. Right? But secondary gender? That we’ve got, but—”

“And no one has never noticed this because…?”

“Because,” Gabriel steamrolled on, sounding annoyed to be interrupted, “it’s rare for it to matter on Earth. Unless an angel is in a vessel that matches their secondary gender, it’s never going to mean anything down here.”

“Okay…” Dean clenched his fist, feeling himself getting riled up all over again. “So, are you going to stop dancing around something soon, or do you need help getting there, Feathers?” He felt his teeth begin to bare and struggled to take deep breaths.  _ Fuckin’ trickster dick. _

“It hasn’t mattered,” Gabriel’s voice rose, “because no angel has gone into heat on Earth for nearly two-thousand years. We just weren’t down here enough, understand?”

Dean blinked.

“You see where I’m going, Dean-o?” Gabriel practically shouted. “Is your human brain catching up now?”

“So, Cas was… That’s why he disappeared? He went into heat?” 

Dean found himself suddenly questioning everything he knew about his friend. He thought Cas was just...Cas. Junkless. Genderless. Why had he never mentioned this? Hell, if Cas had a secondary gender like humans did, Dean would certainly have pegged him as an alpha, anyway. Dude was pissy as a chamber pot most of the time. An omega? Really? No way.

“Yes,” Gabriel was saying. “Circumstances dictated that Castiel hide away for the duration of his heat,” he explained.

“So, you...what? Helped him? Hid him?” Dean guessed, frowning. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel slightly lost and betrayed, not knowing an entire part of his best friend. He struggled to keep his scent neutral, not wanting to give Gabriel the satisfaction of seeing him bothered by this. 

Dean was suddenly struck by the image of Cas working his way through his heat somewhere with a fake knot, or worse, being helped by Gabriel. Ugh. He felt sick at the thought.

“Help him? Me? Christ on a cracker, Dean. NO!” Gabriel looked affronted, horrified, and about as sick as Dean did. 

That was reassuring. 

Sam re-entered the room, and there was a brief hushed discussion between him and Gabriel. Distracted by thoughts of Cas, their words seemed to buzz around Dean’s skull without really being processed at all.

“Why didn’t he tell me?”

Gabriel and Sam both turned to look at Dean, blinking.

“I mean,” Dean frowned as he continued, his gaze dropping down toward the floor, green eyes flicking back and forth as he searched the air for nothing, “he could have told me anything. Why wouldn’t he tell me that?”

“Dean—” Sam began. He stood near Dean and Gabriel, next to the table, and moved toward Dean almost cautiously. 

“That’s for you and Cassie to talk about,” Gabriel interrupted, raising his hands palm up. “Sam prayed, asked me to come down here and explain where Castiel had been, my job is done.”

Dean could see Sam’s nostrils subtly flaring as he attempted to scent Dean without being too obvious about it. He glared at his brother, but turned back to Gabriel, scowling.

“No, it’s not,” Dean said. “You haven’t explained at all. You said you weren’t helping him with his heat—which, thank God, gross—but if that’s not the reason, why was your scent all over him?”

Gabriel looked uncomfortable. His eyes drifted to Sam, but Sam moved to Dean’s side, supporting him pointedly.

“It’s a good question, Gabriel. Tell him.”

“Fine.” Gabriel sighed. “Angel’s can’t breed in their true form, as you know. Technically, they can breed in a vessel. If the mate is human, obviously the resulting offspring is a nephilim. But if the mate is also an angel…”

For a split second, Dean’s hearing buzzed to white noise and his brain short-circuited, picturing Cas resting one hand protectively on a rounded belly while he looked back at Dean—

“Wait a minute,” Dean shook himself. “If the mate is an  _ angel? _ What the fuck, dude?”

Sam made a rude snorting noise that Dean deciphered as him attempting to hide his laughter.

Gabriel just glared at them both, then continued. “If the mate is an  _ angel _ ,” he eyed Dean threateningly, “then, theoretically—because it’s never been done—there is a way of making new angels without God. And Castiel, well…”

All the mirth drained from Gabriel’s voice, and he slid down from the table, standing in front of Dean.

“You know there are just seven angels left. Castiel told me, so you have to know too. I’m an alpha, Naomi is an alpha, Inias is an alpha, Dumah is a beta—” Gabriel began to list off names on his hand, checking off people far too casually.

“Get. To the fucking. Point.” Dean hissed, baring his teeth more than he intended.

“Castiel is the only omega left,” Gabriel finished quietly. “ _ That _ is why I was protecting him, Dean. Cas was attacked. He got into trouble with Inias, he needed help. I came.”

The archangel’s words settled around the three of them, and they all stood in silence, processing the implications. Eventually, even Sam had to step back from Dean, the sharp stench of his anger, soured by a sorrow he couldn’t control, flooding the room.

“This Inias… attacked him?” Dean said quietly, controlling his voice as best he could.

“Yes. Pinned his wings down, beat him. He was trying to force Cas to agree to come back to Heaven, to choose a mate. It seems their patience with him is wearing thin, now that the lights are almost off up there.”

Sam spoke up, gathering information as best he could. “Why isn’t he healing fully then, now that you rescued him?”

“His wings are injured. Angels actually regenerate grace through their wings, that’s why a lot of us are so weak after the Great Fall. Damaged wings don’t absorb energy well,” Gabriel explained. “Cas doesn’t have a mate, or even a friend, to groom his wings and he won’t let me touch him. I think that’s why he couldn’t heal the whole way. His grace is too low, and he’s not regenerating it very fast.”

Sam opened his mouth to ask another question, but Dean spoke again before he could.

“Inias pinned his wings. Did he… How did he hurt him?” Dean phrased it as a question, well aware that the stench of distress coming off him in waves was doing most of the talking for him. “Did he—I mean, you got there before—”

“Yes,” Gabriel nodded quickly. His voice softer, oddly understanding. “I got there before anything went that far. But I don’t doubt that if Inias, or any other Heavenly alpha, finds Castiel in heat again, unmated, his consent will be the last thing they care about.”

The thought of Cas being forced to mate against his wishes—hell, the thought of Cas mating with anyone else, period—was enough to double the intensity of the anger-stink that clung to Dean, his own hormones betraying him.  

“Dean,” Sam said quietly, covering his nose with his hand. It was far from subtle, but it got the point across. “Maybe you should—”

“Shower, yes, I know,” snapped Dean, spinning on his heels and storming back out of the room.

 

***

 

The shower, oddly enough, did very little to help Dean. He was worried about Cas, and it didn’t matter how much scrubbing he did to try and eliminate the scent that oozed out of his very pores, it just kept coming. Because he just kept worrying. Hoping that he could pass it off as friendly, platonic concern, Dean gave up and stumbled out of the shower.

The had completely run out of dry towels. Perfect.

Shaking himself off as best he could, Dean pulled back on his clothes roughly. The thick denim of his blue jeans pulled roughly against his damp skin, but he was in no mood to care. 

He made a stop by the kitchen to grab a few items, wracking his brain for last minute ideas of things that might help a human omega through the last of their heat. Who even knew if they’d help an angel? Dean sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck. He had too little information. All he could do was hope that Cas was awake. 

Gathering up the supplies he’d pulled together on the kitchen counter, Dean made his way back to his bedroom, pointedly ignoring Sam and Gabriel as they sat at the war room table.

Their conversation sounded fairly civilized. Dean was in no mood for civilized. 

He left them to it, moving straight back to his bedroom, where he’d left Cas before his shower. He carried a tray, with clean cloths and a bowl of ice, along with some snacks and juice. Under his arm he had tucked the first-aid kit they kept in the kitchen, though he had no idea if Cas’ wounds would respond to the human kind of healing. 

On a last-minute whim, he swerved and stopped by the laundry room on the way, retrieving a couple of pairs of his own soft sweatpants that he’d wear around the bunker and some old, well-washed t-shirts. If he was truly in heat, there’s no way Cas could be comfortable in all those formal layers, Dean decided.

He knocked quietly on the door, even though it was his own room. 

“Come in,” Cas croaked quietly.

Shutting the door behind him, Dean moved up to the side of the bed with his tray and armload of clothes. He lowered the tray down to the nightstand before dropping the clothes on the bed.

Cas lay on his side, pale and sweating, his hands tucked up beneath his neck as he looked across at Dean. He only looked at him for a moment, taking in the supplies he’d brought with him, before his eyes dropped down to the mattress.

“Gabriel told you. I—I asked him to leave.”

“We called him back. I was worried, Cas. I—We didn’t know what happened to you.”

“I apologize,” Cas said, weak and quiet, talking into the pillow. “I had no intent to worry you or Sam. I wouldn’t have come back here until I was healed, but…”

Dean watched Cas as he trailed off, his eyes moving slowly around the room for a moment.

“I feel safe here,” the angel finished, very softly.

“You are safe here,” Dean said firmly, a slither of protectiveness coming through in his scent despite his frustration. He took a breath, trying to calm himself so as to keep everything neutral; hopefully Cas would think of it as nothing more than Dean’s usual, brotherly affection.

Cas nodded into his pillow, his eyes drifting shut.

“Why did you lie to me?” Dean said into the quiet room, his voice more broken than he was proud of. 

“I never lied,” Cas said, his eyes snapping open. “Please don’t think of it like that. I just didn’t tell you, that’s all.”

“Semantics, Cas, and you know it.”

Dean lowered himself down the bed, sitting on the edge of it and angling his body to face Cas. They looked at each other for a long moment. Strangely, Cas looked like he was about to cry, and Dean had no context for how to deal with that. He reached across to the nightstand, slowly picking upon one of the soft washcloths he’d brought with him. Dipping it into the ice water, he wrung out the worst of it and turned to Cas, holding it up.

“Here, can I…?” He gestured to Cas’ face with the cloth. “I used to do this for Charlie, back when she’d stay here sometimes. It made her feel better.”

Cas blinked, something like surprise ghosting across his face. But he nodded.

Dean shuffled up the bed, so he sat closer to Cas’ chest, and reached across to his face. Patting gently at the angel’s skin, he began to cool him down, wiping away at the sweat and blood-splatters that graced his forehead and cheeks.

Cas’ eyes drifted shut, and for a minute they were peaceful. 

Once his face was clear, and looking notably cooler, Dean threw the cloth in the direction of his laundry hamper. Grabbing another, he began the process all over again, just gently patting at Cas’ hot, tanned skin. 

“When I first took this vessel and came to Sioux Falls to find you,” Cas whispered, not opening his eyes, “Zachariah instructed me to hide my designation from you. He gave me scent-blockers that would hide the way I smelled from you and warned me not to reveal to you that I was an omega, under any circumstances.”

Dean’s hand stilled for a second, the cloth pressed to the underside of Cas’ jaw. Carefully, he moved it back to the bowl, gathering more ice water before he gruffly asked, “Why?”

“He said you were an alpha, and a hot-headed, strong-willed one at that. He said he doubted you would listen to, or trust, an omega, angel or not.”

“Woah—” Dean began to protest, angrily.

“He was wrong, of course. You aren’t like that. But at the time, I had no reference point for even thinking to disobey his orders, Dean. You remember how things were back then. How I was, back then.”

Yes, Dean remembered. The robotic, loyal, diligent Castiel. He still had some of those traits, but none of the blind obedience he’d once had for Heaven.

“I’m sorry, Dean. I know it doesn’t mean much to you, but I am. I hid part of myself from you, and I sense you see that as a betrayal.”

“Fucking right I do,” Dean growled, soaking the cloth again, more viciously than required. Ice cubes clattered and water sloshed onto tray. “Zachariah has been dead for years, Cas. Why didn’t you just tell me, after? How many times have you had to hide this, before? Dammit Cas, I could have  _ helped  _ you. We were  _ friends,  _ Cas.”

Dean’s voice was angry but hid a very real sense of hurt and betrayal. 

“I bet you smell furious with me, right now,” Cas said quietly, his eyes fluttering open against the pillow, his gaze still averted from Dean.

“What—You can’t tell?” 

“No,” Cas admitted. “Zachariah had me take strong medication, Dean. I still do. It was Jimmy’s, technically. Designed for omegas who work closely with alphas, like Jimmy did. They not only stop my body from producing those scents, they stop it from reacting to anyone else's. I can barely smell those kinds of pheromones at all.”

“Cas!” Dean was appalled. “What the hell, dude? Those things are dangerous, it’s never advised to take those long—I know you’re an angel, but seriously!”

All those years of trying to hide his scent from Cas, for nothing. It’d be funny, if it wasn’t so alarming, Dean thought.

“Dean, I—” Castiel’s answer was stolen away by a groan, as he turned his face down into the pillow, a tremor running through his muscles.

Dean leaned across, pressing the back of his hand to Cas’ forehead. “Jesus, Cas, you’re burning up,” he fretted. “Is it usually this bad? Do you, uh, have anything to help?”

Dean tried to ignore the fact he was asking Castiel, Angel of the Lord, if he had a fake knot to ram up his ass. It was just too much. 

“No,” Cas said, his gravelly voice carrying a tiny note of embarrassment, which anyone other than Dean might have missed.

Bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Look, here—” Dean gestured to the comfy clothes he’d dropped on top of the blanket. “Get changed into something cooler and softer. Drink some water. I’m gonna go drive and get some supplies. I’ll be back in an hour, okay? Then we'll look at getting you patched up.”

Cas blinked up at him. When he didn’t respond, Dean began to push up from the bed, thinking that he’d head out to the small pharmacy in Lebanon and see if they carried anything to help; fever medicine, cooling pads, anything. Cas’ hand darted out and clasped his wrist, pulling his attention back at the last moment.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Dean just nodded and stood, crossing the room to head out to town. The scent of sadness, anger and confusion simmered softly around him. He didn’t bother to try and hide it this time.


	3. Chapter 3

**3.**

 

An irritating Christmas jingle played loudly in the pharmacy. Dean could already tell he’d be humming it on the way home, and he wasn’t overly impressed. The store wasn’t that large, the tiny town of Lebanon not being home to that many people, but they did have a section dedicated to heat supplies.

Dean stood awkwardly, staring blankly at the shelves with his hands in his pockets.

“Need any help, sir?” A perky, well-practiced customer-service voice chirped from his right.

“Oh, uh…” Dean turned, looking quickly to the petite brunette that was offering her assistance, before gesturing vaguely to the wall. “It’s a lot.”

She smiled knowingly, nodding. “It is. A new omega in your life, is there?” she asked kindly.

“Yeah, something like that, I guess.”

“Male or female?” 

“Male,” Dean affirmed, watching as she started pulling a few boxes down from the shelves and handing them to him. Her name tag said “Sally” and she was efficient, seeming to know exactly what to grab.

“Every omega is different, of course,” she explained. “We all have our own preferences. But, if your new friend, or whatever they may be, isn’t in a state to explain, you’re probably best off going with the basics.”

Dean nodded dumbly, accepting the items without question. 

“Will you be assisting the omega with his heat yourself?”

Dean blinked. “Sorry, what?”

“Do you need a knot, or is he going to be taking yours?” the woman asked patiently, seeming a little amused.

“Oh!” Dean felt his cheeks burn, and he couldn’t deny that his traitorous cock had a little something to say on the matter, too. “He, uh, no. Not my boyfriend, or anything. I guess I should take him...something.”

Taking a brightly colored box from the shelf, the pharmacy employee balanced it on top of Dean’s pile of goodies, right up under his chin. She grinned at him, and Dean would have sworn to a jury there was a tease to it.

“This one is pretty standard and will do just fine. Unless he’s a bit of a size-queen.” She winked. “Then you might have to come back.”

Dean tried to cover the choking noise he made with a cough, but he had a feeling she was on to him.

The woman chattered on pleasantly while she scanned his items, telling him what each of them was and how to use it.

“Taking these can help bring his temperature down, but honestly nothing beats a cold bath. Just sit him in the tub and keep gently pouring water over him, works a treat,” she advised, popping a box of pills into a plastic bag. 

Dean nodded, grateful, but shifted on his feet. He was getting antsy to get back to Cas.

“I picked out a box of alpha condoms of course, for you, in case you don’t—” 

Dean cleared his throat suddenly, catching her hand and taking them from her, leaving them on the counter. “No, I, uh—I don’t think I’ll be needing those, thank you.”

She eyed him levelly. Without blinking, she reached behind her, pulling a slim box from a shelf. It declared itself to be the most accurate omega pregnancy test on the market.

“Then please,” she said flatly, “take this, on the house.”

Dean sighed, and shuffled the condoms back toward the bag. Just in case, he told himself. 

Eventually, he made his way out of the pharmacy, with Sally’s best wishes, of course. He’d parked directly outside, Baby slightly skewed near the curb in his hurry. Slipping back inside her, he slumped over the steering wheel, groaning.

“Get yourself together, Dean,” he muttered, eyes closed. “Cas being an omega doesn’t  _ change _ anything. He’s never showed even the remotest bit of interest in you.”

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he quickly unlocked it and called Sam.

“Hey, Dean. You get the stuff?”

“Yeah, there was a really helpful lady at the pharmacy so I think I have everything he’s gonna need.”

“Alright. Well, Gabriel’s still here, I think he wants to talk to you about some stuff before he leaves.”

“Me?” Dean said, suspiciously. “Why?”

“Well, you and Cas are…” Sam trailed off, and Dean could almost hear him carefully picking his words before saying them. “You’ve got that profound bond thing going on. I checked in on him, but really you should be the one taking care of him, Dean.”

Dean exhaled slowly, glad that Sam couldn’t see him. He gazed out of the car window, watching snowflakes beginning to gather on the Impala’s hood. He wouldn’t say as much, of course, but even the thought of Sam taking care of Cas during his heat, as good friends as they were, just didn’t sit right. He felt protective, and worried, and possessive in a way he had no right to be.

“Yeah, I, uh—” He cleared his throat, knowing that Sam already knew how he felt about Cas, and that his reaction to this probably wasn’t surprising to him. “I wanna take care of him myself. So, yeah, I guess I’ll drive back and see what advice Gabriel has.”

“Cool. I’ll go check on Cas again, take some fresh sheets in there. Then I’ll stay away, okay. Don’t turn into some dumb knot-head on me, Dean,” Sam grumbled. “He’s my friend too.”

“Oh, one more thing—” Sam interrupted quickly, before Dean could hang up. “When we talked, Cas said they took his medicine away, in Heaven—I guess whatever he was on to block his scent and stuff? So maybe you should talk with him about what we need to do about that.”

Dean frowned. “Do about it?” 

“Dean, we have people coming and going in the bunker all the time. Either he needs to go back on them, or we need to work out how we’re going to deal with having the place stunk-up by unmated omega heats every few months.”

“Every few months, Jesus,” Dean groaned, bringing his hand to his forehead. Of course. It wasn’t like this was a one-off deal, after all. “Yeah. I’ll talk to him.”

Knocking the Impala out of park, he peeled away from the pavement and turned back toward the bunker. The drive was short, but within the few miles he covered he noted the snow falling faster.

It looked like they were going to be trapped in the bunker for a white Christmas.

 

***

 

Gabriel was waiting in the war room, arms folded. He looked impatiently up at Dean as he slowly descended the iron staircase from the front door above.

“Taking your time, Dean-o?”

Dean frowned. “Hurried as much as I could, actually, asshole. I don’t  _ enjoy _ seeing Cas struggle like that, you know.”

“Hmm.” Gabriel eyed Dean thoughtfully. “Yeah, Sam indicated as much.” 

Dean made his way over to the war room table where Gabriel sat, his feet kicked up onto another chair. He made no attempt to move and make space for Dean, simply observing his scowling approach with curious, whiskey-colored eyes.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Dean asked, dropping the plastic bag down onto the table with a thump. “Cas is my best friend. I’m kinda pissed at him right now, sure, but I don’t want him to suffer.”

Gabriel continued to eye Dean thoughtfully. After a moment, he sat up sharply, as if he’d come to some kind of decision. He dropped his feet down to the floor and began to stand. 

“Well, I have to get going. But remember what I said about him healing. If you can get him to let you take a look at his wings, start fixing whatever the problem is there…he’ll be able to start healing faster on his own.”

“Right,” Dean said. “The wings. How do I help with that, exactly? It’s not like I can see them.”

“There’s a spell, of sorts. An Enochian sigil that you can draw on his back with a mixture of your blood and his. It’ll allow you to see them, as long as the sigil is present.”

Dean was skeptical, but he nodded slowly. “Okay. So where do I—”

“Sam’s getting it from the library. You’re welcome, by the way, for the help and for saving your friend.” 

Not waiting for an answer, Gabriel strode across the room toward the iron stairs. On the fourth step, he turned, looking back over his shoulder.

“Oh, and Dean?”

Dean met his eyes silently, waiting.

“Until Cas is mated, he’s always going to be in danger. Just… think about that.”

Gabriel snapped his fingers and disappeared, leaving Dean irritated and wondering why he’d bothered climbing half the stairs in the first place.

“Sammy!” Dean yelled.

Sam appeared a moment later, stepping up into the war room from the library. In his hand, he held a thick, folded piece of paper. He looked around. “What’s up? Did Gabriel leave?”

“Yeah. What did you say to him?”

Sam’s mouth flapped for a moment and he reached up to his face, nervously tucking a piece of his hair back behind his ear. “I, uh—sorry. I didn’t say much. Gabriel’s no more blind than I am. Or anyone else for that matter. He thinks...” Sam trailed off, growing uncomfortable.

Dean regarded Sam through narrowed eyes.”What?”

“Nothing. You need to get to Cas, right? You can yell at me later.”

“You got the sigil thingy?” 

Sam offered forward the piece of paper in his hand, a simple design sketched in the middle. It was circular, with a stylized eye in the center, and a couple of Enochian letters at each end. Dean grabbed it, raising one eyebrow skeptically.

“This is it?”

“Yup.” Sam nodded. "Good luck with it. If you need anything, if I can help…” The scent of concern drifted from Sam, musky and thick. 

Dean sighed, berating himself for not involving Sam more. “Yeah, uh, I will. Sorry. I don’t mean to be—”

Sam’s hand came forward to touch at Dean’s shoulder, reconciliatory. “We’re both out of our depth. And it’s cool, you know. I’m not dumb and I have a nose. You’ve been in love with Cas for years. This is hard for you.”

Dean made a startled noise of protest at having Sam spell it out so plainly, but he couldn’t think of a single retort. Instead, he shrugged one shoulder, letting it be. “Yeah, well. This doesn’t change anything. He’s never showed any interest so it’s really irrelevant whether he’s an omega or not, at this point.”

Sam nodded slowly. “Right. Well, uh…” he gestured to the tiled hallway that led to the bunker bedrooms. “I’ll let you get on with it. Just text if you need me to bring anything down there.”

With a nod and an attempt at a grateful smile, Dean took the paper and his plastic bag of heat supplies and headed on down the hallway to check on Cas.


	4. Chapter 4

**4.**

 

The lights were off in Dean’s room when he reached the door. He eased inside quietly, pausing for his eyes to adjust a little before he moved across to the nightstand, groping for the lamp. When the yellowish light illuminated the bed, he realized that Cas was sleeping.

He lay on his front, a sweat-soaked pillow under his cheek, his arms wrapped tightly around it. He clung on desperately, shivering even as he slept. The angel’s skin had a slightly gray pallor by now, thick beads of sweat gathered around his hairline and eyebrows. His eyes twitched beneath his eyelids and his breath was broken and uneven. He had the blanket pulled up to his waist, covering his occasionally twitching hips as they desperately sought friction on the mattress, even unconscious. Cas wore one of Dean’s old t-shirts, a stretched-out Kansas tour shirt in a light gray. In the low light, it looked almost black with sweat. A pair of Dean’s soft sweatpants peeked out from the edge of the blanket. He whined in the back of his throat as his hips rolled, a desperate, high pitched noise which hit somewhere deep in Dean’s chest and started a fire in his stomach.

Dean sighed, taking a calming breath and resolutely ignoring the sensation. He could do this, he told himself. His friend needed him—Dean him, not knot-head alpha him.

Carefully lowering the plastic bag from the pharmacy down to the mattress, Dean unpacked the boxes he'd purchased, quietly stacking them on the nightstand. He tiptoed around to Cas’ side of the bed, taking the box of fever-reducing pills with him. The bowl of cold water on the other nightstand still had ice in it; Sam must have refilled it, Dean guessed. Next to it was a glass of juice, half drunk.

Dean readied a couple of the pills, and wet one of the waiting washcloths from the pile on the tray. Holding the juice, he lowered himself down to the edge of the mattress, sitting by Cas’ chest.

“Hey Cas,” he whispered, trying to wake him gently.

There was a soft grunt, another whine and roll of his hips, but not much else.

“Cas, buddy?” Dean tried again, a little louder.

The angel’s eyes fluttered, and then pinned Dean with blue. “Dean? You came back.” Cas observed, his gravelly voice croaky from sleep and heat.

“Of course I did. Did you think I wouldn’t?” Dean frowned at the implication, juggling the pills in his palm. He realized he smelled concerned and sad, musky and sharp all at once. He ignored it, as he figured Cas couldn’t tell anyway.

“I—I didn’t know,” Cas admitted, struggling to raise his head from the pillow. He rubbed at his eyes, wincing as he wrinkled the wound Dean had carefully stitched at his brow.

“Hey,” Dean moved forward instinctively as he heard Cas’ sharp exhalation of discomfort. “Here, take these. The woman in the pharmacy said they’d help bring your temperature down, make you a bit more comfortable. I got you some, uh—” Dean faltered, but managed. “Some other stuff too. It’s on the nightstand, just use whatever you need. There’s cooling pads and relaxers for muscle pains and… other stuff,” he finished lamely.

Dean held out his hand, offering Cas the pills.

He lifted one trembling hand up from the bed and wrapped his fingers around them, taking a gulp from the juice cup that Dean carefully lifted to his lips.

“There we go,” Dean encouraged, leaning in to make sure he didn’t pour the juice down Cas’ face.

Cas’ scent billowed over him immediately; the first time he’d truly smelled more than the barest cinnamon-y musk from the angel. Dean’s breath caught in his throat and his eyes flew wide; Cas smelled of honey, and spices, and _home_ and _mate._ The scent broke over Dean like a cresting wave and he jerked back, taking shallow, panicked breaths.

Sam had warned Dean that Cas’ scent blockers were wearing off, but Dean hadn’t expected Cas to smell like _that._ His scent curled low in Dean’s stomach, and it was all he could do not to launch himself forward onto the bed.

“Dean?” Cas looked up at him quizzically. After only a second he lowered his eyes—which somehow looked all the more blue for being bloodshot—down to the bed, avoiding looking at Dean again. “I’m sorry. This is embarrassing for me, I’ve never—”

“Hey,” Dean interrupted softly. “Nothing to be sorry about.” Steeling himself, he reached for the cloth that he’d dampened, bringing it forward to mop at Cas’ hot face. He hesitated, an inch or so from Cas’ brow, but the angel nodded and so he continued.

Dean smoothed away the sweat and some flakes of dried blood from the cut at his eyebrow and beneath his swollen lip. The wounds were doing fine, but they were certainly healing at a distinctly human rate.

“Maybe try to sleep a little more,” Dean suggested.

Cas nodded, lowering his head back down to the pillow properly, but keeping his face upturned so that Dean could ice his skin.

“I’ll stay here and try to keep you a bit cooler. At least if you’re asleep you’re less aware of humping the mattress,” Dean teased.

It was the wrong thing to do, apparently, as Cas’ face was all but purple. Dean laughed at him, thumping gently at the angel’s shoulder with his fist.

“Cas, dude, relax. It’s okay. You can’t help it. Nobody is judging you. I’m still pissed at you for lying to me for years, but I don’t care that you’re an omega, Cas. I just want to help you.”

Cas nodded, slowly relaxing once more.

Dean stood, grabbing the bowl of ice water and cloths, and moved around to the other side of the bed. It would look, he hoped, like he just wanted to sit against the headboard on the empty half of the mattress to be more comfortable, but in actual fact he just needed to put some distance between them; Cas’ scent, though still subtle and dulled by the remaining scent blockers, was intoxicating. Cas was already embarrassed; no need for Dean to be joining him.

He settled back onto the pillow, patting as gently as he could at Cas’ burning skin, while the angel drifted back to sleep.

Dean desperately tried to ignore the heavy, broken feeling in his chest which accompanied the musky spice of _mate, mate, mate_ that he just couldn’t get out of his mind.

 

***

 

“Dean!”

Dean woke suddenly, registering the calling of his name in a desperate, throaty voice before anything else permeated his sleep-fog.

He’d fallen asleep after a couple of hours of tending to Cas, icing his exposed skin and changing the blanket for a dry, fresh one at regular intervals.

He blinked in the dim light from the single lamp and automatically tried to sit up, but a burning hot, heavy weight pinned him.

“ _Dean,”_ Cas called again, a helpless, lost tone to his voice as he hovered over Dean. He was rolled above him, one knee between Dean’s thighs, his hands braced either side of Dean’s chest as he trembled wildly, his nose barely half an inch from Dean’s neck.

Dean’s own breath choked him as Cas’ scent overpowered him. Cinnamon and honey and heat and perfection. The musk of his body layered with the spice of his heat and— _Oh god,_ Dean struggled, fighting desperately with himself as the hot, sweet scent of slick hit his nose.

Cas shook above him, trying to hold himself back but huffing at Dean’s throat like a junkie.

“Cas,” Dean panted, squeezing his eyes tight shut, as if that would somehow help.

“I—I can smell you,” Cas choked out, frantic. The tip of his nose trailed tantalizingly up Dean’s neck, the barest of touches, running from his collarbone up to his jaw. “Oh God, Dean, you smell—”

Dean looked down, seeing Cas with his eyes flared wide with hunger and a tiny hint of fear. The panic seemed to pass as Dean looked back at him, not rejecting him or pushing him away.

Cas’ nose buried itself under his jaw, deeply scenting the skin beneath, and immediately a deep growl burst out of Dean’s chest before he could stop it.

“Cas,” he panted. “Fuck, Cas.” Unable to help himself, Dean’s hips rose from the bed, pushing up against the angel’s body as he lay above him. He was already rock hard, his entire body throbbing from the scent of _mate, mate, mate._

Cas whimpered helplessly. Any sense of embarrassment seemed long gone as he rutted down against Dean, panting powerfully below Dean’s ear as he tried to make coherent sounds. “You smell like…”

“I know,” Dean comforted as best he could, realizing they were far past the point where it mattered or where this would stop. “It’s okay, Cas. It’s okay.”

Dean’s heart soared out past his ribcage as Cas gave in, his arms giving out as he fell onto Dean’s chest, his hips grinding forward in jerky movements. He could feel Cas hot and hard against his hip bone, sweatpants heavy with wet, sticky slick. A moan tumbled from Dean unchecked.

As soon as Dean told him it was okay, one of Cas’ hands was scrambling at their clothing, pawing in an almost animalistic way at the jeans Dean still wore from his trip to Lebanon the evening before.

Their movements were frenzied, straight to the point. Cas simply needed to sate the horrendous physical yearning that had gnawed at him for days, and Dean was totally drugged by Cas’ scent, choosing to turn off the part of his brain that insisted on reminding him that this was a fucking terrible idea.

Jeans open and lowered, sweatpants pushed roughly aside, the rest of their clothes still remaining, it was only seconds before Dean felt the head of his cock nudging at the slick, hot gap between Cas’ legs. The sensation made him moan out loud, hungry. Dean gasped the angel’s name over and over like a mantra as Cas slowly, inexpertly, lowered himself onto Dean’s eager cock.

“Dean,” Cas gasped when was fully seated, his eyes drifting shut. He leaned forward, his voice shaking as he took his weight through his arms, pushing on the mattress either side of Dean’s chest. “I—I need—” he was fighting for breath, begging.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I got you…” Dean found himself mumbling, comforting, placing one firm, guiding hand on Cas’ hips and using the other to pull the angel forward, tucking his face into Dean’s neck so that he could breathe in his scent deeply.  

Cas remained there, huffing in deep breaths, a mess of sweat and relieved tears as Dean grinded up into him, before pulling back out as far as he could, burying his tailbone into the mattress, and slamming back home.

The shout that the movement pulled out of Cas was immensely satisfying.

They set a ferocious pace, days of heat with no release making this more relief than enjoyment. Every smack of Dean’s groin up into Cas’ thighs was punctuated by a loud, gasping grunt from the angel, sometimes just a sound, sometimes Dean’s name, his wrecked voice reverberating in the hot space beneath Dean’s ear as he clung on desperately.

There was absolutely no way this was going to last long.

Cas’ voice was broken and shaking as he shouted desperately into Dean’s neck. “Ahh… Ahhh… Dean… Knot me, Dean… Please, please…”

Even if Dean had been able to control himself not to do so, the begging would have pushed him over the edge.

Dean felt his knot beginning to swell almost on command, tugging at Cas’ stretched rim, every thrust getting tighter, more difficult, until with one last _pop_ inside… it caught.

Cas yelled out, a carnal growl that took Dean’s name and made it more sound than word. He panted, his eyes wide, lifting his head from the crook of Dean’s neck and sitting up, arching his back as Dean filled him.

Dean’s head pushed back into the pillow, his mouth open in a silent cry as he painted Cas’ insides. It seemed to go on forever, everything just hot white-noise and overwhelming sensation. Somehow his hand found Cas’ pleading, needy cock and he stroked him fast, pulling a dry yowl from Cas as he coated Dean’s chest with white.

They panted together, eyes wide, the last spurts of Cas’ long overdue release dripping across Dean’s t-shirt and down to his exposed navel, melding into the small trail of blonde hair that headed further south.

Like he was slowly coming out of a drugged fog, Cas swayed slightly above Dean, straddling his hips. He blinked repeatedly, like he was clearing the haze from his eyes, and looked down at Dean, first to his face, then down to the place where they were locked together. His mouth parted, his breath stuttering, but he didn’t say anything.

Dean reached up, pulling gently at Cas’ arms until he had the angel laying down against his chest. Once their breathing calmed, Dean carefully rolled Cas to the side, wiggling his foot to catch the blanket and pull it up around them. The chill air of the room was suddenly too much against the drying sweat on their sensitive skin.

Cas leaned his head forward into the pillow, obscuring his face.

“I wonder if I can return that fake knot,” Dean commented casually, nudging Cas with his shoulder.

The angel gave a small huff of laughter before he looked back up at Dean. They lay quietly for a few minutes, just looking at each other. Dean wanted to say something before the silence became awkward, wanted to make sure that everything would be okay between them after… this.

Slowly, Dean raised the back of his hand to Cas’ face, pressing it against his brow. Cool. “Hey, look at that,” he smiled, letting his hand drop back down to the mattress. “Your fever is all gone, for now. How are you feeling?”

“Physically? Much better,” Cas confirmed.

“And emotionally?” Dean asked quickly, ignoring Cas’ raised eyebrow that such a word would come out of Dean’s mouth.

It took another moment of looking at each other, the fear and weight of unsaid things building up between them until Dean thought it was about to choke him. When he began to be afraid he was about to have some kind of panic attack, Cas finally spoke up.

“I—I’m so sorry, Dean. Really, I am. I never meant for—” his eyes dropped.

Dean smelled the wave of shame and embarrassment that rolled over Cas. He brought his arms up instinctually, pulling Cas a little closer and rubbing the palms of his hands across his shoulder blades, coaxing him to continue.

“I never wanted my biology to be the reason this happened,” Cas mumbled into Dean’s shoulder.

For a second, Dean wasn’t sure if maybe he’d misheard. “What?” he asked, pulling back, trying to catch Cas’ eyes.

Cas kept his face downturned, speaking to the sheets. “I, uh—” he looked very quickly up at Dean, cheeks flushed, before looking back down again. He smelled of sadness, and fear.

Dean rubbed his shoulders again, unsure, but hopeful. He tried to project his scent out as best he could, wrapping Cas in comfort and the most soothing intentions he could muster. It seemed to help.

“I had hoped that if anything ever happened between you and I, it would be for other reasons than just a base, biological impulse,” Cas confessed quietly. “I wanted—I mean, I hoped…” he trailed off, uncharacteristically shy.

“Cas,” Dean said, breathing out his name softly. He reached to cup the angel’s face in both hands, guiding his eyes upwards. “Listen to me.”

Cas looked back at him, wide and blue and full of trepidation.

“Cas, I have loved you since long, long before I knew you were an omega.”

The angel’s eyes fluttered, shocked, and his face fell forward into his hands. He curled inward, still locked intimately with Dean but curling his head into Dean’s shoulder. “You…” was all he managed.

But Dean could smell it, emanating from Cas’ skin; joy, and hope, and love.

Dean wrapped Cas in his arms. He buried his face in Cas’ hair, the wild, dark shock smelling of cinnamon and sweat and _home._ “I never thought you wanted anything else other than friendship, Cas,” he explained. “I tried so hard to hide it from you, all this time. I’ve been in love with you for years. Just you, no scent at all.”

“Dean.” Cas raised his head, his eyes sparkling, a wide, gummy grin splitting his face. Slowly, still cautious, he raised his hands to Dean’s cheeks, gently running his fingers across the stubble there before he leaned in, his eyes never leaving Dean’s, giving him every chance to object.

Dean closed the last inch for him. He was gentle, avoiding the corner of Cas’ mouth where he was still sore and angling to the side instead, pressing them together in a long, sweet kiss that stole his breath away.

“I love you too, Dean,” Cas said, barely pulling back from the kiss, his words hitting Dean’s lips. “That’s why I didn’t stop taking the scent-blockers. I thought you didn’t want me. My scent would have been nothing but pining, I just…” he trailed off, shaking his head.

Dean’s laugh rumbled gently against their lips. “Silly omega,” he murmured, pulling Cas close again.


	5. Chapter 5

**5.**

 

Ten minutes later, there was a knock at Dean’s bedroom door.

“Dean? Cas?” Sam called. “Can I come in?”

Dean and Cas looked at each other, taking in the tangled blankets, covered in sweat and slick stains, and the way their bodies were still tied together, Dean pulling slightly at Cas’ rim every time he shifted.

“Uh, you probably don’t want to,” Dean shouted, with an amused grin at Cas.

There was silence on the other side of the door for a long minute.

“Did you want something, Sam?” Cas called, his eyes locked with Dean’s, both of them trying not to laugh.

“I, uh—” they could hear Sam shifting uncomfortably on the other side of the door, and Dean could picture his brother’s hand worrying at his hair. “I made you breakfast, that’s all. Bacon, eggs, cinnamon rolls. Christmas treats, y’know?”

“Sounds great,” called Dean, as solemnly as he could.

“I said I’d drive up to Jody’s quickly, she wants me to help Claire with—well,  uh, just letting you know. I’m gonna be—away. Far away. Uh,” he coughed. “Merry Christmas, I guess.”

Dean stifled a childish giggle against Cas’ shoulder as the angel responded.

“Thank you, Sam. We’ll come out and enjoy your food as soon as we’re able. Drive safely.”

It sounded like Sam’s feet couldn’t carry him away from the door fast enough.

Dean’s laughter grew louder as he departed. “Well, I guess Sam knows,” he said, eyes twinkling in amusement.

“Yes,” Cas agreed dryly. “I’m sorry, if you didn’t want him to. That was rather unavoidable.”

Dean shifted on his side, pulling a small gasp from Cas as his knot tugged at the omega’s tight rim. Followed by a pleasurable grunt of his own as Cas tightened around him, squeezing out another wave.

Calming his breathing again, Dean smiled across at Cas, reaching to tangle one hand in his messy hair.

“I don’t mind. He was going to find out very shortly anyway, when I told him. This was more entertaining, honestly.”

Cas smirked, shaking his head slightly. “You’re incorrigible, Dean. I just meant that—well, we haven’t really had a chance to talk about anything, I didn’t want to assume…”

“Oh,” Dean said, smiling softly as he understood. “I get it. I love you Cas, and I don’t mean that just casually, okay?” He laughed again, leaning forward to trail kisses down the side of Cas’ neck, resting his teeth oh-so-gently against the meatiest part, near the bottom. “I want to make you mine, Cas, and I want to be yours. And as long as you want that too…”

Cas’ breath hitched against him, and Dean smiled into his neck, depositing a kiss where his promise lay. 

“I want us to be together, Cas. That’s what you smell like, to me… cinnamon, and honey, and warmth and… forever.” Dean flushed. “Apparently having my knot buried in your ass turns me into an embarrassing romantic.”

Cas chuckled, placing a chaste kiss to the same spot on Dean’s neck, near his shoulder. “That’s what you smell like to me, too. You smell of apples, and leather, and just…mate,” Cas said, breathing the word out as if in spite of himself. “I know that’s a lot, to say that, but as soon as I woke up and scented you—” Cas stopped, looking cautiously at Dean.

Dean smiled widely and tried to make his nod as comforting as he could. “For me, too. I first started being able to pick up your scent last night, and it was all I could do not to embarrass myself,” he said. “It was overwhelming. In the best way.”

Cas nodded. “It’s so strong, like there’s some kind of…” he said, trailing off.

“Like we have some kind of scent bond?” Dean said, smirking. “Or like we  _ would _ have had one, if someone hadn’t insisted on hiding their scent for ten years?”

“In my defense Dean, you didn’t exactly speak up either.”

“You told me angels had no gender! What was I supposed to think!” Grinning, Dean grabbed at one of the pillows, swiping at Cas with it. 

When Dean’s knot finally deflated and they slipped apart, Dean insisted on going to make Cas a plate of food while he took a much-needed shower. 

“You know how this works, Cas. Angel or not, I think you should eat something and drink some water before your temperature starts going back up.”

With a sigh, Cas agreed. He appeared to feel much better, sitting up in Dean’s bed on clean sheets with a small plate of bacon and eggs by the time Dean returned from his own shower.

Dean slid onto the bed next to Cas. He found himself to be oddly nervous. Almost shyly, he lifted one arm, offering Cas the space to snuggle up next to him should be want to. It was ridiculous, given that he’d had his cock buried in Cas’ ass less than an hour before. But this felt different. This wasn’t a crazed, hormonal high driven by their pheromones; this was a choice they were both making.

Cas seemed to sense it too, studying Dean’s face for a long moment before he tilted himself into Dean’s side, nuzzling up under his chin. “Is this okay?” he said softly, after a minute had passed.

“It’s…” Cas’ scent was different now; not as desperate and hot, yet somehow more warming, more comforting, the musk clinging to Dean’s senses in a way that perfectly complemented his own scent. He leaned in, inhaling deeply, wrapping his arms around his angel. “It’s perfect, Cas. This is perfect.”

It took a minute to place the sound that was emanating from his own chest; a contented purring noise, the like of which he’d had no reason to make for more years than he wanted to count. Cas either heard it, with his angelic hearing, or felt the vibrations as he lay against Dean. He looked up, his lips drawing back in a smile that showed pointy incisors.

“You’re happy,” Cas observed, his voice awed. “You love me.”

Dean pressed his nose deep into Cas’ hair, feeling his cheeks heat but unable to care. “Yes, Cas. I love you.”

They snuggled—though of course, Dean still found himself trying to think of another word for it, but snuggling was indeed what it was—for another few minutes before Cas spoke.

“I should probably change the dressings on my wounds before the fever comes back,” he said reluctantly.

“Sure,” Dean nodded, a soft note of protectiveness floating out from him. “Let me help you.”

As Dean prepared to swing his feet out of the bed to fetch the first aid kit, so he could clean the wound bisecting Cas’ eyebrow once more and redress the slash at his arm, he suddenly recalled what Gabriel had said.

“Cas—Gabriel said that you weren’t healing properly because your wings were damaged.” 

Cas looked surprised but nodded. “Yes, I imagine that’s correct. They aren’t too uncomfortable though, not right now.”

“But you won’t recover your grace very quickly without them.”

Cas tilted his head, an old gesture, curious at Dean’s new knowledge. “Yes…” he spoke slowly. “That’s true. But what would you have me do?”

Dean licked his lips, suddenly nervous. “Do you trust me, Cas?”

The angel blinked. “Of course.” He pushed himself up off the pillow, placing his near-empty plate of breakfast over on the nightstand, and turned to face Dean. “Why do you ask?”

“Gabriel gave me a way to help, with your wings. A way I can see them, so I can take care of them. If you're okay with that.”

Dean could smell Cas’ discomfort before he even said anything.

“Dean, my wings are—”

“Ruined, I know,” Dean comforted, reaching across to twine his fingers with Cas’, just holding his hand tightly. “But you gotta know that doesn't matter to me, buddy. It really doesn't.”

Cas nodded slowly. “Okay. What do I need to do?” 

“I don’t think you really need to do anything,” Dean said, reaching across to his nightstand where the folded piece of paper lay. “Gabriel told Sam how to find this.”

Unfolding the paper, he passed it across to Cas, who studied it carefully for a moment.

“Yes,” he said finally. “This will work. It’s simple enough to be almost foolproof, and it’s personalized to us, see—” Cas pointed out an Enochian symbol on the left of the sigil that looked like a backwards number thirteen. “—this is  _ Veh,  _ the symbol that corresponds to C, for me. And this—” He moved his finger to another symbol, on the opposite side to the first. “Is  _ Gal, _ the letter D. For you.” 

“Taking your word for it,” Dean said, shrugging one shoulder. “For all I know, Gabriel’s calling me a monkey.”

“That’s more Zachariah’s line, honestly. Gabriel likes you. Sometimes.”

Dean looked skeptical but turned his attention back to the sigil. “So, your brother dearest just said that I have to draw this on your back, between your shoulder blades, with a mixture of my blood and yours. That okay?”

Cas frowned softly. “I’d rather you didn’t spill blood for me, but given my willingness to bleed for you over the years, I’ll allow it.”

Dean bumped Cas with his shoulder, before reaching back over to the nightstand and rooting around in the drawer. He pulled out a small Swiss army knife. “This’ll do,” he commented. 

The first aid kit that he’d used on Cas’ face and arm was still on the dresser, so Dean stood up and fetched some pieces of gauze and light bandages in preparation. Using a clean cup from the tray of drinks and ice water, they soon had a small cup of blood, a mixture of them both. It wasn’t much, as Castiel had frowned at every drop Dean shed, but it would be enough.

“Alright, Cas,” Dean said, gesturing that Cas lay face down on the bed. 

Before he did, Cas took a moment to step up to Dean. Reaching around to tangle his fingers in the hair at the back of Dean’s neck, Cas pulled Dean in, carefully angling his head to avoid his bruises. He brought their lips together again. 

Dean sighed into it, the taste and sensation of Cas growing more familiar each time their mouths joined, but no less amazing. He took the time to get his arms up around Cas, his eyes falling shut as he held them together, chest to chest. Their mingling scents swelled around them, cinnamon, and apple, and leather, and honey, a perfect combination. 

Cas smiled against Dean’s mouth when they were done. “I’m still rather blown-away that I can do that.”

“That and much more.” Dean gave the angel a cheeky wink, reaching down to squeeze quickly at one of the firm globes of his ass. “Later. Right now, let’s see if we can get you feeling better and powering up again, my omega.” He planted another kiss on Cas’ temple, terribly fond, and his scent was almost overpowering with warmth.

Cas gave a little laugh before he pulled back, removing the old grey t-shirt Dean had given him after his shower and going to lay on the bed as Dean had indicated before.

Moving over to the mattress behind him, Dean straddled Cas’ tailbone and picked up the cup from the nightstand. He placed a hand carefully on Cas’ back, slow so as not to make him jump, and splayed his fingers across his spine. His skin was starting to feel warm again, Dean noted. 

The angel lay quietly, his face turned so that his cheek was in the pillow. Dean could smell a hint of sour nervousness flowing out from his scent glands. 

Instead of immediately beginning to paint the sigil onto his back with one finger, Dean leaned forward and pressed his lips to Cas’ spine. He trailed small kisses up it to the base of Cas’ neck, before nuzzling against the fleshy spot at the beginning of his shoulder. He left a wet kiss there, a soft, damp imitation of a mating bite, before lifting his lips to Cas’ ear. “I’m going to love your wings, Cas, ruined or not.”

He watched some of the tension melt out of Cas’ shoulders with a small smile, before he started painting. With one finger, he spread the mixture across Cas’ skin, fitting the sigil neatly between his shoulder blades. When he was almost done, he pulled back, looking at it critically and checking every line before he connected the last bit of the circle.

“What now, do you think?” Dean asked. 

Before Cas could answer, there was a low, almost imperceptible  _ whooshing _ noise. Dean’s head jerked, and suddenly, spread out across the bed like great feathered sails, there were wings.

“Oh.”

“You can see them?” Cas asked, nervously. “Usually if I pull them into this plane you can still only see shadows…”

“I can see them, Cas, I can see them!” Dean exclaimed, grinning in almost childish excitement. “This is so cool!”

The wings were huge; they took up the width of the bed and drooped down each side, almost touching the floor, despite Cas not having them extended out fully. The feathers, those which remained, were a silky, shimmering black that reminded Dean of oil spilled on hot tarmac. The longest feathers were sparse, many of them gone since long ago, Dean knew, when Metatron had cast the angels out of heaven. There were patches of exposed bone along the upper edge, which Dean suspected were from the same time, given the smoothness of the spaces and the lack of scarring. It was the long tears of broken feathers nearer to Cas’ back, though, which drew his attention. They were jagged and stuck out at odd angles. On the left, the wing itself tilted near the large line of disruption, as if the bone underneath was fractured. 

“They, uh—there’s a lot of—”

“Cas,” Dean said slowly, leaning down over his back between the wings and wrapping his arms beneath them, hugging him as best he could from their awkward position. “They are beautiful. Your feathers are awesome. I imagine they were really impressive before the Fall, buddy, but they still are to me, even now.”

Cas seemed to give up his anxious protests, nodding somewhat gratefully into the pillow.

“Is this the worst part?” Dean said, gently ghosting his fingers over the spot where the left wing seemed uneven.

“Yes.” Cas breathed carefully into the pillow. “I think it’s broken; it hurts to move.”

Dean nodded. “It looks like it. I can splint it for you. And we can get all your feathers sorted, where you were pinned down.”

Cas squeezed his eyes shut tight. “Okay. Yes. Thank you, Dean.”

Dean reached across the mattress and under the pillow to where Cas’ hand was hidden. He squeezed it tight, aware of the musky, alpha scent that was emanating from him, but no longer caring. It smelled of anger, and protectiveness, and regret. 

“No one,” Dean said carefully, baring his teeth more than necessary, “will ever threaten you again just because you’re an omega, Cas. You’re the biggest badass I know. Warrior of God. Inias was a fool to think you’d roll over just because you were in heat—and I’ll make  _ damn _ sure he never does it again.”

Dean was aware his voice had dropped to a possessive growl, but Cas was squeezing his hand in return, and that was all that mattered.

“You don’t need to protect me, Dean.”

“I know, Cas.” Dean smiled ruefully, sitting up and sliding off Cas so that he could stand beside the bed. “You’re more than capable of protecting yourself, but—”

“I know,” Cas interrupted, and Dean could see the fondness in his little smile as easily as he could suddenly smell it. “I appreciate it, Dean…”

Cas used their still clasped hand to pull Dean down toward him, so that he was stood leaning over the bed and into Cas’ space. Cas lifted his head to trail his nose up Dean’s neck, giving his skin the softest of nips. “My alpha,” he practically purred.

Cas’ low, gravelly tone, like freakin’ whiskey over rocks, did things low in Dean’s stomach.

He straightened up, clearing his throat. “You’re, uh, your temperature is going up again, Cas. Let’s just get this done quickly, yeah?” Dean forced out, past his instinct to jump back onto the bed.

Before anything Cas could say or do—or even just the sight of him—could tempt Dean any further, he quickly turned and headed out to gather what he needed to splint Cas’ wing.


	6. Chapter 6

**6.**

 

 

“So, how’s it going?” Sam couldn’t quite keep the teasing out of his voice, even over the phone.

“Fine,” said Dean, nonchalantly.

Sam made a snorting noise.

“Things turned out pretty well, actually,” Dean admitted, smiling as he walked back toward his bedroom, his phone tucked under his ear. “You’re gonna think I’m crazy, but—do you believe in spontaneous scent bonds?”

Sam was quiet for a second. “Well, I believe in them, you know Mom and Dad had one. But I can’t believe that just came out of  _ your _ mouth. Plus, you’ve known Cas for years, how could—”

“The scent-blockers, Sam,” Dean reminded him.

“Oh. Yeah, I guess now would be the first time you ever really smelled each other.”

“Yeah.”

“So, you and Cas, dude—like, for real?” 

Dean bristled slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean? And yeah, Sammy. You know I’ve always liked him, I just thought…” Dean trailed off, pausing outside his bedroom door with a large first aid kit and some leg splints from the bunkers supply under his arm.

“Don’t get me wrong here Dean, I’m really happy for you. This is a great thing, if it’s what you both want. I just didn’t know if it was like, a helping-him-through-his-heat thing, or like a longer-term thing. But if you’re talking about spontaneous scent bonds, then…” Sam trailed off, leaving Dean to confirm.

“Yeah,” Dean said quietly, slightly flushed. “Longer term thing. I found my mate. You can laugh, now.”

“Wouldn’t dare,” Sam said, though Dean could hear the grin in his voice. “Well, when can I come back to the bunker? I want to congratulate you guys, but not if you’re parading around stinking up the place.”

Dean grinned wickedly. “You might just have to get used that, sexy omega like I’ve got—” he began.

“Gross, Dean. I’m serious.”

“So am I—”

“Jerk.”

“Alright, bitch. Give us until this evening, okay? He’s still in heat right now and I don’t want him to be embarrassed about it.”

“Embarrassed? Dean, I’m a grown-ass man, I don’t give a shit if Cas—”

“It’s new for him, Sam. Just let him get used to handling it by himself, first. You couldn’t look anyone in the eye for a week after your first rut, if I remember right.”

Sam huffed down the phone. “Well, alright. Merry Christmas. I’ll bring Chinese food when I come back. Don’t open your present from me till I get there.”

“Okay, Sam. Merry Christmas.”

Dean had almost forgotten that it was Christmas day, and they had presents to open under their slightly pathetic, tilting tree. Including Cas.

Grinning to himself, Dean pushed open the door, striding back into his bedroom.

Cas still lay on his front on the bed, face down in the mattress. “If you speak to Sam again,” Cas mumbled into the fabric, “please pass on my deepest apologies for ruining both of your Christmases.”

“Oh, shut up, dumbass,” Dean rolled his eyes, lowering himself down to sit on the edge of the mattress, carefully picking his way around the huge wing that still dangled over the edge of the bed. “This has been the most amazing Christmas ever for me. I got  _ you _ for Christmas. And Sam can suck it, he’s a big boy. He’s just glad you’re okay.”

The angel made a small grumbling noise into the pillow, but seemed mostly placated. 

“Alright,” Dean began. “Obviously the Men of Letters didn’t really stock up on angel-wing splints. Possibly the only thing they  _ didn’t _ think of. But they do have plenty of plain ol’ human leg splints, and I think they should work just as well.”

Cas turned his head, taking his face out of the pillow so that he could look across to Dean. He nodded, and Dean noticed that his face was pinkish again. He reached across, softly pressing the backs of his fingers to Cas’ cheeks.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m alright,” Cas said dismissively. “Wings first, like you said.”

“First,” Dean echoed with a wink.

Dean placed his supplies down on the floor next to the bed and set to work. He was cautious, touching Cas’ wing for the first time, somehow nervous about it, though they were essentially just feathers like any other. Except big. And kinda magical. And attached to his mate.

“Tell me if I hurt you, Cas, please,” he begged.

Cas grunted and hissed with pain a few times as Dean splinted the bone, and Dean soothed him through it as best he could. The bare patches of bone on the top of the wing actually worked in their favor, Dean found, as they enabled him to bind the splint much tighter, preventing the bone from moving at all while it reset.

“That should heal much faster, and much better, now,” Dean said when he was done tying off the splint. “How do I fix the feathers?”

“You don’t have to—”

“Cas,” Dean warned, low in his throat. His mate  _ would _ let him help, Dean wasn’t about to argue about that.

“Just run your hands through them,” Cas said, shifting on the bed. Beads of sweat were beginning to form on his brow. “Just like you’d stroke something with fur, I suppose. Get your fingers between the feathers—be gentle, though. The ones that can’t be saved will fall out, hopefully most of them can be straightened though. It’s not like I’ve got a lot to spare.”

“I’m sure they can be,” Dean soothed. 

Dean tried to project his most calming, loving scent out to Cas as he settled back over him, straddling his lower back and sitting on Cas’ butt as he had done earlier. It wasn’t hard, he found, to send soothing smells to his omega. It just felt natural.

Cas seemed to appreciate it, relaxing down into the pillow a little further. “Thank you, Dean,” he whispered, as Dean leaned over to start grooming him. He let out a small gasp as Dean’s fingers sunk between the feathers at the top of his wing. “I appreciate this. I can’t reach back there very easily, where you’re grooming.”

“Hmm.” Dean looked down, considering the wings. “Yeah, I guess not. Kind of an awkward blind spot, back here.”

“Angels usually help each other with it in Heaven. But for omegas like me, it can be—” Cas searched for the word for a moment, his silence intriguing Dean. “It’s not something I’d ask my brothers or sisters to do. So usually I just make do.”

Dean hummed curiously at the information, but focused on the feeling of the feathers slipping between his fingers as he worked. 

“Not many omega angels, then?” Dean asked conversationally as he reached across with his other hand, experimenting to see if he could reach to groom both wings at once.

“Less of us than any other designation, just like humans,” Cas confirmed. “Though there were more once, of cour—ahh!” 

Cas’ words dissolved into a gasp, and Dean froze. For a moment, he thought that he’d pulled too hard, hurt Cas’ sensitive, damaged wings. But the firm roll of Cas’ hips against the mattress gave him away.

“Not something you’d want your brothers and sisters to do, huh?” Dean teased, grinning wickedly. 

Dean kept his hands moving, and Cas’ groaning became more pronounced. Trickles of sweat began to gather across the angel’s back, and Dean realized that he’d have to be quick if he wanted to finish grooming—never mind anything else—before the sigil was disrupted by Cas’ heat-leaking skin.

He dug his fingers in more firmly, bolder now, raking them down between the feathers. 

“Oh—” Cas gasped, his eyes widening as he turned his head, trying to look back at Dean.

“Go ahead, Cas,” Dean said. “Two birds one stone, after all.”

Cas looked relieved, as if he was glad to be understood without having to explain. His breathing picked up and his eyes fluttered shut, his hips rolling frantically against the bed as Dean’s hands worked magic on his wings; teasing out the odd unsalvageable feather, and straightening the rest neatly, all the time applying gentle pressure around the feather roots, where Cas seemed to like it best.

“Ahh—” Cas gasped again, cutting himself off. “Dean…” His eyes opened, and his hand came from under the pillow, moving back over his prone wing to grasp desperately at Deans thigh as he straddled Cas’ back.

“That’s right, hold on if you want to, my sexy omega—” Dean crooned, finding himself startlingly aroused by the sight of Cas stimulating himself against the mattress, so turned on by his heat and Dean’s attention to his wings that he couldn’t even wait for Dean to be done. 

Dean’s alpha traits, deep inside and intertwined with every part of him, very much appreciated the sounds tumbling from Cas’ lips. He struggled not to yank Cas’ hips upwards and grind into the flesh of his ass, desperate to claim the perfect-smelling omega beneath him.

But he held back. He needed to care for his mate, to help him. That was more important.

But god  _ damn _ did he smell good, slick leaking thickly through his sweatpants.  

Pulling his focus forcibly back to Cas’ wings, Dean teased his fingers along the feather shafts, smoothing them down across the wing, encouraging them to lay neatly. He didn’t know how much of the feathers Cas could feel but having them stuck out in all directions just didn’t seem comfortable, somehow. The angel definitely seemed to agree, as his hips snapped frantically back and forth. 

“Dean, I—” Cas sounded embarrassed again. 

“Cas.” Dean paused to dig his fingers back up under the feathers, massaging at the roots near the top of the wing. “You’re in heat, you don’t need to feel weird about this. Hell, man, you don’t need to any time. What feels good feels good, angel or no.”

Dean grinned as Cas practically convulsed at the deeper massage, leaning forward again so that his lips hovered close to the angel’s ear.

“Let me help you feel good, Cas. I love you, I want you to feel good,” he reminded him huskily, soaking in Cas’ hot, aroused scent.

The sigil between Cas’ shoulder blades was growing more and more blurred from the movement and sweat. Dean knew he didn’t have long; luckily, the feathers now seemed to be mostly okay, a small handful of unsalvageable, broken feathers beside Dean on the bed, but most of them returned to place and groomed.

Cas groaned throatily at his words. “I need—”

Wordlessly, Dean slipped his hips back, reaching a hand around underneath Cas. He slid his hand down the angel’s stomach to the soaked elastic of his pants, slowly, so that Cas could object anytime he wanted. He certainly didn’t.

“Yes,” Cas gasped, his voice low and desperate. “Please, Dean—oh God, please touch me, I need—”

With a soothing shush, Dean slipped his hand into Cas’ underwear. The omega angel lifted his hips from the bed, giving Dean space to grasp his trembling, slick cock. He could sense Cas’ desperation, his heat draining him of almost any impulse beyond the most base. The hand job was fast and efficient, but still tempered by Dean’s other hand in Cas’ wings and his lips dancing across his shoulders.

Cas didn’t last long, shuddering down onto the mattress with a dry, weak yell that might have been Dean’s name.

The sigil on his spine was all but destroyed. To make everything a little easier, Dean reached up and swiped his finger through the symbol, breaking what remained of the outer line. With a soft  _ shush _ of feathers, Cas’ back was smooth skin once more, wings hidden.

Dean reached across to the nightstand, grabbing some Kleenex and using it to wipe the blood-mixture from the angel’s skin. Once he was clean again, Dean reached gently down to Cas’ shoulder, urging him to turn over. 

Cas rolled onto his back, a little cooler and clearer than he had been, though tired. He blinked in bleary surprise as he took Dean in, skimming down his form and lingering on the sizeable bulge in Dean’s jeans. “You—” he gestured to Dean. “That was enjoyable for you?” He sounded doubtful.

“Of course it was, Cas,” Dean said, wiping at the angel’s stomach with a handful of tissues. “Seeing you like that, hearing you, smelling you… if I wasn’t trying my darndest to take care of you and get your feathers straight, we’d be locked together for hours.”

Cas tugged off his uncomfortably damp-looking sweatpants and underwear, kicking them off the bed so that they hit the floor with a heavy thump. He tugged Dean’s beige blanket up to his waist, before laying back on the bed and rolling onto his side, looking across at Dean as he settled onto the bed next to him.

“Was that okay?” Dean asked, reaching across the short space between them to brush Cas’ sweaty hair back from his forehead.

“Definitely. I’ve, uh, I’d never been touched like that before,” Cas confessed. “Having someone touch my wings as a form of foreplay, I mean. It’s not always like that.”

“Oh, so just me, huh,” Dean said with a shit-eating grin.

“Yes, I think so,” Cas said solemnly. 

Dean wasn’t quite sure what to say about that, so he ducked his head down little further into the pillow, bringing his hands up beneath his cheek and breaking his eye contact with Cas.

“Would you like me to…” Cas’ words trailed off, but he gestured and added, “reciprocate?”

“Nah.” Dean chuckled. “Though the thought is nice. I’m not an eighteen-year-old any more though, I think I can cope with a little break between bouts while you’re in heat.” He reached across, almost a soft habit now, to lightly press the backs of his fingers to Cas’ forehead.

Cas tilted his face forward, giving Dean access with a bemused smile. “What’s the prognosis, alpha?”

“Cooler. That’ll keep your temperature and urges down for a little while, most likely, though not as long as receiving my knot would.” Dean smirked, shuffling a few inches closer to Cas across the bed, so that he could gently lay a hand at his waist. “And you don’t need to call me that, Cas. That’s not why I’m helping you, or why I want to be with you.”

“So, you will still want to join with me, even outside of my heats?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Even though I’m an angel? Even though I might not always be able to be here, and sometimes we fight so much we break furniture?” There was a teasing note to Cas’ question, but there was also a deep undertone of insecurity that Dean had never heard from the angel before.

Dean felt trusted, to be shown the softer underbelly of the stoic, loyal angel, without his pheromones forcing it. He tightened his hand at Cas’ waist, pulling them together so that he could wrap his arms around the angel. “Even though.” 

Dean pressed a kiss to Cas’ temple, before pulling back to wink. “Honestly, it’s always been pretty hot when we fight. Now we just get to actually do the ferocious make-up sex part, too.”

“I look forward to it,” Cas said seriously. He laughed softly then, burying his face into Dean’s neck and breathing deeply. “I can still hardly believe this is happening. I’ve spent millennia without a mate, you know. I never thought any of this would happen… that I’d fall, become attached to this vessel, become emotionally invested. I didn’t even think it was possible. To find my perfect mate, on top of that…” Cas looked up, eyes gleaming. “Maybe my Father doesn’t think as badly of me as I’d feared.”

Dean laughed. “Fuck Chuck, Cas. You’re the best angel there is, no doubt about that, not to mention the bravest, and most badass,” he said, grinning and nudging his nose against Cas’ with each point, “My angel. My friend. My tough little rebel omega. Don’t ever change.” 

Cas beamed. “Well, in that case, I think I might enjoy calling you my alpha. Sometimes, at least.” 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**7.**

 

Dean persuaded Cas to eat a sandwich, despite his grumbling about molecules, and get through a couple of glasses of fruit juice before they took a nap on more fresh, clean sheets. While Dean had been out grabbing the now-unnecessary rubber knot and other supplies, Sam had the good sense to run a couple of loads of laundry. Once Dean had the bed dry and crisp again, they tangled with one another affectionately, just enjoying the downtime and resting. Cas’ heat was exhausting, angel or not, and Dean just wanted to enjoy the quiet time they had together.

When they woke, the first thing Dean did was to check his omega’s temperature again and talk him into drinking a glass of water. It was getting easier, he noticed, to convince Cas to go along with his mother-henning. Dean wanted to think that he was just suave and persuasive, but he figured it was more likely that Cas just couldn’t be bothered to argue any more. He didn’t even smell irritated; more like resigned. It was late afternoon and so Dean texted Sam, checking they still had a couple of hours at least before he planned to be back.

“Hey, Cas.” Dean nudged the angel’s side as he placed his empty water glass back onto the nightstand. “It’s Christmas day.”

“Yes, Dean. It is.” Cas turned his head back to Dean, his eyebrows meeting in puzzlement.

“I, uh, have a present for you, actually.”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “Is this a penis joke, Dean?”

Dean threw his head back against the headboard, laughing so hard he had to wipe his eyes. “Oh God, Cas, if you knew how far from the truth that was…” Grinning, he hopped out of the bed and smoothed out the thighs of his jeans before turning and extending his hand to Cas hopefully. “A real present. It’s under the tree.”

Still looking a little confused, Cas reached across to quickly slide into the clean pajama pants Dean had found for him and slipped one of Dean’s plain black t-shirts over his head. Dean was running out of clean, soft pants for Cas to wear and it was instantly obvious that these pajamas belonged to Sam, by the way the legs pooled around Cas’ feet. He looked down at them and smiled awkwardly.

“I suppose I should obtain some clothes of my own for heats. My usual attire isn’t the most practical, and I’m going through what you two have faster than you can wash it.” He reached across to take Dean’s hand and fell into step beside him, his toes barely peeking out of the pants.

“We can get you some clothes if you want, but I’m not going to pretend that seeing you wearing mine doesn’t make my alpha side purr,” Dean admitted, winking across at Cas.

Cas smirked as they made their way to the library, hand in hand. “A bit possessive, aren’t you?”

“It’s alpha nature,” Dean said with a shrug, before looking sidelong at Cas and adding in a softer voice, “Besides, do you have any idea how many times I’ve lost you?”

He smelled his own scent curling around him as they stepped up into the war room, nervous and slightly sour with discomfort at admitting, out loud, just how much the angel’s absences, deaths, and distant missions had bothered him.

Cas, it seemed, smelled it too.

“I’m sorry,” he said, lowering his gaze. He tugged on Dean’s hands, halting their steps, pulling Dean into his chest.

Dean’s breath caught, overwhelmed by the warm, cinnamon and honey scent of his omega wrapping around him apologetically. The smells were soothing, regretful, almost sorrowful. Cas leaned his temple down onto Dean’s shoulder and stretched his neck out submissively. He looked surprised as he rested there, as if he’d reacted on pure instinct and only caught up a moment after. But, notably, he chose not to move.

Dean licked his lips, desperately fighting the deep, primal urge in his belly to lean forward and lick at Cas’ neck, line up his mouth and sink his teeth deep into the beautiful skin before him. _Mate, mate, mate._ He kissed his neck, instead.

“Don’t be sorry. Not anymore. Just maybe stay, now,” Dean smiled forgivingly. “Or, y’know… call.”

With one hand on the base of Cas’ back, Dean guided him over toward the wonky, sad Christmas tree.

Cas eyed it with a strange look on his face.

“We found it in one of the storage rooms,” Dean said with a sigh. “I know, it’s pathetic. I just wanted to set it up and try and have a little holiday cheer in here. Not very good at all this kinda stuff though. Don’t have much experience with it.”

“It is a little miserable looking,” Cas admitted. “But decorations aren’t what Christmas is about, after all. It doesn’t matter.”

Dean knew that the look on his face must have been somewhat unconvinced, but he tried to smile.

Cas pursed his lips thoughtfully, still looking at the tree, then gave a little grin. He reached down near the plastic base, scrabbling around for a moment, and plugged in the multicolored lights. They twinkled among the plastic branches, drooping across the bare spots but still, overall, improving the look. Cas stepped over to the nearby wall and flicked off the war room’s large overhead lights.

“There,” he said. “That looks much better.”

The tree glowed brightly, all its ugliness obscured, its harsh edges softened by twinkling red, blue, green, yellow and pink lights.

Dean laughed, studying the tree in the dim, colorful radiance, before turning to look across at Cas. “It really does. Kinda pretty, even.”

The blue of Cas’ eyes twinkled obscenely in the fairy lights, and Dean couldn’t help but stare. He let his eyes linger longer than he ever would have before, studying the angel lit up by the tree.

“What?” Cas asked uncertainly after a moment. They weren’t virgin starers, but of the two, it was more common for Cas to let it go on so long.

Dean ducked his face down, shaking his head slightly. “I was thinking that you’re obscenely handsome, and I’m glad you’re here.”

“So, I look better in the dark?” Cas deadpanned.

Dean went to smack him in the arm with his elbow but remembered Cas’ wounds at the last second. Gesturing across to the angel’s lip, he asked, “How’s it going, the grace stuff? Did you get even a little yet?”

Looking thoughtful, Cas raised his hand up to his mouth, lightly touching two fingers to the swollen, split side of his lip. A tiny spark of blue-white light glowed out from his hand, illuminating the corner of the war room where they stood and overpowering the Christmas lights for a just a second. The wound closed, smoothing away to nothing. Cas blinked, gasping out at the effort.

“Woah, okay, buddy—” Dean reached out, placing a protective hand on Cas’ hip. “Maybe take it easy.”

Cas nodded. “Yes. My grace is beginning to regenerate, but very slowly. Hopefully by tonight or so I might be able to heal my wing, and it’ll come back much faster then.”

Slowly, smiling wider now that there wasn’t an injury pulling at the corner of his mouth, Cas stepped up into Dean’s space. He slid one hand behind Dean’s neck and pulled him in close.

Dean felt Cas’ lips ghost against his own before the angel spoke.

“Thank you, Dean. For everything. For splinting my wing, and grooming my feathers… For caring for me, and not making me feel embarrassed or ashamed.” Cas’ smile turned a little shy as he paused to kiss Dean softly, before continuing. “I am so sorry that I ever hid from you. I know it doesn’t make the betrayal any better, but I do regret it, Dean. I regret obeying Zachariah so blindly back then, and I regret not fixing it when I had the chance… I never considered, for even a moment, that you might love me in return. That you might have _wanted_ to be my mate. I didn’t think I’d be worthy of you, with everything I’d done. I never realized I was depriving you too.”

Alpha or no, Winchester or no, Dean melted on the spot. He wrapped Cas in his arms, the corner of the room flooded with warm, loving scents as he kissed him back, over and over. “Cas, it’s okay. It was dumb, and I was angry and confused. But I forgive you. I love you, and I’ll always take care of you. Just like you always have for me, angel.”

They kissed slowly for long minutes, not pulled together by the scent of slick or the hormonal desperation of heat, but just by the depth of longing they’d both so long suppressed. When they finally parted, Dean grinned across at Cas, shaking his head teasingly.

“You’re turning me into a friggin’ Disney princess, all soft and romantic and shit. But you know what?” Dean reached up, softly running his fingers across Cas’ stubbled jaw once more. “I don’t even care. If it helps my mate see his value, I’ll be sappy as shit.”

“I count on it. I expect grand romantic gestures, long speeches espousing my many virtues, and constant doe-eyes while birds sing.”

“You’ve really been working on that sarcasm the last couple years, huh?” Dean laughed, letting go of Cas to crouch in front of the tree.

Cas merely smiled, lowering himself down to the ground next to Dean.

After a moment picking through the terribly wrapped presents that sat under the pathetic tree, Dean picked out a tiny little box. He sat back, shuffling until he was sat cross-legged, facing Cas, their knees touching. He held the tiny gift in both hands, extending it out to Cas.

“So, I got you a gift.”

Cas smiled, though he looked a little confused, and extended his hands to take it. Before he could say anything though, Dean pulled the gift back out of Cas’ grasp, holding it to his chest, and carried on.

“Wait, just a minute. I just wanna say something about the gift.”

Cas raised an eyebrow but let him continue.

“I, uh, it took me a really long time to come up with something to give you,” Dean confessed. “I wanted to give you something though, because this is the first Christmas we’ve had in a long time where things are kinda quiet, and we were all just here at the bunker. Or at least, I hoped you’d be here with us. But I struggled a lot. I mean… what do you give an angel?”

Cas made an almost apologetic face. “I’m sorry, Dean. You didn’t have to get me anything, especially if it was so difficult for you—”

“No,” Dean cut him off gently. “Eventually I thought of something. Something that, symbolically, you should have had years ago, if I’d even ever thought of it. It’s kinda dumb, and I was going to be really embarrassed giving it to you. I was worried that you’d think it was silly, or worse, that you’d realize how I felt about you when you opened it. Either of those was kinda terrifying.”

The angel looked more confused than ever. “Dean, I’m certain I wouldn’t have found it silly,” he comforted, sliding a hand onto Dean’s knee. “Especially something that you obviously put so much thought into.”

Dean flushed, looking awkward, and held out the tiny square box. “Well, don’t say that yet. Open it first.”

Cas carefully took the present from his fingers. Most of the box was obscured by the huge silver bow that perched on top of it, but beneath that it had been wrapped in metallic blue paper, covered in little snowflakes. Cas turned it in his hands, smiling fondly. “It looks pretty, Dean. Do you know I’ve never opened a Christmas present before?”

Dean blinked. “Never?”

“No. As you said, I suppose angels are a little hard to buy for. We don’t really keep much in the way of possessions.”

Dean’s hand slid forward, reaching over to rest on Cas’ thigh. He just rested it there, making tiny circles on the too-long sweatpants that Cas wore with his thumb. Cas reached down and squeezed his hand briefly before turning his attention back to the wrapping paper, peeling it off.

“You smell nervous, Dean,” Cas said. “Please, don’t be. Whatever it is, this is lovely. The fact that you even thought of me at all is much more than I expected.”

Wrapping discarded, a plain white box sat in the palm of Cas’ hand. He pulled the lid off slowly, almost reverently.

Dean found himself staring at Cas’ face, watching for every flicker of reaction, unsure if Cas would know what this meant to Dean. “I wanted you to know that you were family,” he explained softly. “Even before…” He gestured between them.

Cas nodded, listening, but his eyes were transfixed on the box. He reached inside, pulling out the gift, silent. A keyring dangled from his fingertips. It was a delicately carved wooden angel, with beautiful, detailed wings. Attached to the ring was a single silver key. Cas lay the box down and turned the key over carefully in his hand. “Dean, is this…” he trailed off, looking up at Dean once more.

“Baby’s spare key, yeah.”

Cas blinked slowly.

“I, uh, I know it’s not much, it’s just a silly gesture really but—”

Dean was cut off sharply as Cas leaned forward, silencing him with a kiss. It wasn’t a dismissive kiss, and it didn’t end quickly. Lips locked tightly, Cas uncrossed his legs, moving forward. Within seconds he ended up in Dean’s lap, his arms wrapped around Dean’s neck, his tongue pressing at Dean’s lips for entrance.

The sudden appearance of a lapful of angel threw Dean, and he laughed softly into the kiss, before losing himself to it completely. Holding Cas tight around his back, he reciprocated with everything he had, worshiping the angel’s silken tongue and running his hands along his spine, languid and soft.

The Impala key dropped gently back into the box, it was all but forgotten as Cas’ hips ground forward, and Dean could feel the angel hardening rapidly against his stomach. He nipped softly at Cas’ now healed lip, before trailing his mouth provocatively down to Cas’s throat, stopping to nose at his jaw along the way.

“Still working through that heat?” He grinned softly against Cas’ neck, taking a deep sniff.

The heightened heat scent was still there, but much reduced.

“Yes,” Cas said, groaning as he opened up his neck to Dean. “But that’s not what this is about.”

Dean pulled back from Cas’ neck, and their eyes locked, magnetic. Dean’s breath was already coming faster, the scent of arousal rising up from him as Cas’ weight pressed down into his lap, his large, plush lips only inches away.

Cas kissed Dean slowly, and the scent of warm cinnamon and musk filled the air, capturing all of Dean’s senses. Dean hummed happily against Cas’ lips.

“This is just for us,” Cas clarified softly, as Dean moved his attentions back down to his neck.

Dean nodded, trailing his nose against Cas’ skin. “Just for us,” he echoed. “I like that.”

Every part of Dean thrummed with the need to push his teeth down into Cas’ skin and claim him as his own. He pulled back, turning his attention instead to removing Cas’ shirt, kissing his way up his chest as it was revealed in front of him.

He lifted his arms for Cas to do the same, his shirt joining Cas’ on the floor.

“You smell so good, Dean,” Cas growled softly against Dean’s throat.

Dean tilted his head to the side, allowing Cas as much access to his neck as he wanted. The angel trailed his tongue along the skin, nipping oh-so-softly at the spot where his neck met his shoulder.

The sweet scent of slick hit Dean’s nose and he couldn’t help but groan out loud. “Fuck, you’re so perfect for me, Cas. So perfect.”

Babbling content little endearments to each other, minutes passed slowly as Dean and Cas just enjoyed each other. Dean lay back onto the floor in front of the Christmas tree, the cold of the concrete blocked by their discarded shirts. Cas sat above him, grinding lazily against his hips, his dark hair haloed by the brightly colored Christmas lights on the tree behind him.

It was slow, and passionate, and perfect.

Their pants were kicked off almost as an afterthought, and when Dean slipped inside Cas it was with nothing more than a happy sigh from them both. Not frantic, like the first time, not full of pheromones and desperation. The scent of Cas heat and slick were there, thick in the air, but the smell was totally overpowered by the smells of mingling cinnamon, apple, and leather.

Dean thought he knew what love was, all of the years he’d spent loving Cas. But it turned out he didn’t truly know love at all, until it was returned.

In his happy stupor of arousal, he said as much to Cas, who merely laughed and nodded, before rotating his lips maddeningly. Cas leaned forward, trailing his hands along Dean’s arms until their hands were held, fingers entwined, Cas using them as leverage to grind down harder, and deeper.

Dean moaned out through the silence of the bunker, lost in the sensation of his hot, wet omega tightening around his cock. “You feel amazing,” he said, pressing back into Cas, feeling him quiver around him.

Their mouths came back together, passion building as their baser urges struggled their way to the surface through the loving fog they were wrapped in. Cas bounced hungrily against Dean’s hips and released their hands so that he could grip at his alpha's shoulders. Dean’s fingers found his hips, gripping in tight and guiding him. His pace increased, and Dean saw his blue eyes widening in the dim, twinkly light.

“Dean, I—” Cas gasped, slowing, holding back.

The long, gentle build up to this already had Dean’s knot beginning to pull at the edge of Cas’ slicked hole, so he merely nodded, reaching up to cup Cas’ jaw, holding the angel’s face in both hands.

They slumped together, their grips tightened around each other as Cas ground out his last few thrusts in Dean’s lap. Noses buried in each other’s necks, they panted and growled, stretching out just as far as they could.

Kissing deeply into Cas’ neck, Dean trailed his teeth down the length of his omega’s throat. “I love you,” Dean said into the skin, his eyes falling closed at all the sensation. “Come for me, Cas. Don’t hold back, omega. Just let go.”

“Dean,” Cas’ voice shook, and he spoke quickly. “Do it. Now.”

Dean blinked, opening his eyes so he could look at Cas. “You’re sure?” His own voice cracked as his knot began to swell, pulling obscenely at Cas.

“Ahh! Yes, yes, Dean, please…” Cas begged, kissing his way down Dean’s neck in turn. “Bite me. Mate me, make me yours.”

“Fuck,” Dean groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as he stopped holding back.

The world suspended for a moment as everything happened at once; Dean’s teeth locking down on Cas’ neck, his knot popping obscenely as it locked them together, Cas’ primal yell as the two sensations both hit him at once. In just a second Dean’s own neck was burning in turn, and his omega was covering his stomach in thick, sticky come as he marked him back in return, biting down hard enough to draw blood.

They both came down very slowly, softly lathing their tongues over the deep mating bites at their necks. They would heal fast, and it didn’t matter how much magic or grace soothed them, those scars weren’t going anywhere.

On the floor of the bunker, in front of the Christmas tree, they were mated; bound forever.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Epilogue**

 

 

“Why Chinese food, though?” Cas asked, tilting his head slightly as he watched Sam and Dean dig around in the sea of white, square containers that covered the map table.

“’s all that’s open,” Dean said around a mouthful of lo mein noodles.

Sam raised an eyebrow at Dean, leaning back in his chair before turning to answer Cas rather more eloquently. “Obviously, most American restaurants are closed on Christmas day, so a lot of people eat Chinese food because they tend to stay open, not celebrating the holiday like we would.”

Cas nodded in understanding. “Ahh, I see. Of course.”

“Plus,” Sam added with a shit-eating grin, “driving all the way to Hastings to get it meant that I didn’t have to come back here and be stunk out by this.” He waved his chopsticks between Dean and Cas, who sat next to each other on the opposite side of the table.

“Hey,” Dean protested, slightly offended.

Cas squinted.

“Dude, the whole bunker stinks of sex and I hate to admit it, because I know you’re going to be delighted, but your two scents mingled together smells like a goddamn apple pie,” Sam grumbled.

Dean cackled gleefully, reaching for another egg roll. “Amazing. Clearly meant to be,” he said, winking across at Cas.

Cas rolled his eyes.

“Careful, Cas, roll ‘em much further and you’ll be looking at your brain,” Dean warned, flicking a noodle across at him.

“At least I’ll have a decent view for once,” Cas replied dryly, peeling the noodle from the front of his t-shirt. It was another of Dean’s, as they were fairly sure his heat was over, but were erring on the side of caution.

Sam looked between the two of them and grinned. “At least some things never change.”

Dean’s retort was lost in a shout of surprise as Gabriel materialized in the center of the table.

“Gah!” Sam yelled, flapping his hands at the archangel. “What the hell, Gabriel?! Get down!”

Sam gestured to the floor like he was yelling at a naughty puppy, and Dean couldn’t control his laughter, despite the withering looks from both Sam and Gabriel.

The archangel hopped down from the table to the floor, managing not to knock over a single food container. “Look, you’ve got so many damn sigils painted around this place, you’re lucky I landed upright, nevermind in the right spot.”

Sam glowered, kicking out a chair for him almost begrudgingly. “Why are you even here?”

“Came to check up on the baby bro, didn’t I?” Gabriel grinned, helping himself to Sam’s plate.

“I’m quite fine, thank you, Gabriel,” Cas said tiredly.

“I can see that! Congratulations are in order I suppose. Taking your pick of the two Winchesters, can’t say I understand your tastes, but hey, each to their own.”

“Hey!” Dean exclaimed, while Sam went a little pink.

“Gabriel,” Cas admonished quietly.

Shrugging, Gabriel pulled Sam’s plate entirely over in front of him, digging into his portion of beef and broccoli with gusto. Sam merely raised his hands in a defeated gesture and started making another plate.

“So,” Gabriel said, around a mouthful of food, “what’s the deal? You stayin’ here with your little human mate now, Cas? Gonna do the horizontal tango until Heaven can be repowered with Nephilim pups alone?”

Cas was too busy turning shades of beet and cranberry to answer, so Dean spoke up.

“He can go where he wants, and do what he wants, and Heaven can leave him the fuck alone.”

There was a brief staredown between Dean and Gabriel.

“Alright, you two,” Sam grumbled. “Don’t get all alpha and pissy on me. It’s better than the sex smell, but only barely. Just chill.”

Cas cleared his throat. “I’ll be staying here. I doubt Heaven will have any interest in me now that I’m mated. So, should such a thing, uh...” Cas shifted his eyes to Dean nervously, his cheeks pink once more, “Any Nephilim would be raised here, not in Heaven. There are other ways to repower Heaven. I’m not abandoning my brothers and sisters, Gabriel, but I won’t be their breeding farm.”

Gabriel laughed, pushing out from the table and sliding Sam’s empty plate back toward him. “Of course not, brother. I never expected any less from you. Tell Naomi and those other stiffs where they can stick it,” he winked.

Everyone looked somewhat relieved.

“Well, I won’t hang around and interrupt the junk food binge.” Gabriel stood, and everyone abandoned their plates to shake his hand or accept awkward hugs. “Just wanted to check in and make sure Castiel was on the mend.”

Gabriel slapped Cas on the back, pulling him in tight. He gave a deep sniff, then wrinkled his nose. “You smell like an apple pie.”

Dean preened, as if it was somehow a compliment.

Gabriel continued sniffing, his brow creasing, before he went wide-eyed.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Cas grumbled, pushing his archangel brother away. “Don’t sniff me like that, Gabriel. It’s weird. It makes me miss my scent blockers.” He scowled.

Gabriel, however, was all grins, turning to slap Dean on the shoulder. “I’ll be off then. Well done, you two!”

He stepped back from Dean and Cas, still grinning wickedly. “Congratulations indeed. For this—” He pointed between their necks. “And that!” He pointed a finger at Castiel’s stomach and winked. “Do give me a shout when it’s time, won’t you? I’ve got some great suggestions for naming Christmas kiddos.”

With that, he disappeared.

Dean and Cas looked at each other, their expressions matched in confusion and more than a little panic.

Sam tried, but entirely failed, to hide his smirk.

Dean grabbed Cas by the hand and dragged him behind him, heading straight toward the bedrooms. He was yelling, panicked and—not that he’d have admitted it—more than a little excited. 

“Pregnancy test! Pharmacy bag! It’s in the bedroom somewhere, come on! Hurry  _ up _ , Cas! Dammit, that fuckin’ pharmacy lady was right—”

Sam’s laughter chased them down the bunker corridor.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go!! Merry Christmas, or whatever you would like to celebrate, Jenn <3
> 
> I wrote my first A/B/O!! 
> 
> How did I do!? *hides under a rock*
> 
> Thank you for reading, fic friends! <3


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